Secrets Kept
by Anonymous-chic
Summary: To Alex, the world of spies and assassins has always been a bit surreal. Mad-men bent on world destruction and adults bent on keeping him out of the loop. How will he fare when he realizes he'll need more than luck and gadgets to survive?
1. Childhood Innocence

After his last mission Alex Rider was given a one week holiday in the resort town of Porto Vecchio. While there he repeatedly runs into a mysterious girl, before M16 ships him off on another mission. Can he complete his mission and discover the secrets of the girl's past? **Read and Review Please!!!!**

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A girl with curly brown hair crept slowly down the hallway toward the large cherry door at the end of the hall. She stepped lightly and her footsteps made no sound on the hard white marble floors, having discarded her shoes earlier. On her right was a floor length wall of mirrors, she paused to look at her reflection. Soft brown curls fell around her face which was pale and her eyes had deep circles around them.

Anyone who gave her one glance would have said she needed some sleep, and she would have fiercely disagreed with them, she didn't need sleep, she needed answers, answers that had been out of her grasp for so long, maybe she would get them tonight, or maybe it would be another hundred years, but she had to try, and she would never be able to live with herself if she didn't. Once she received her answers, then she would get some sleep, but not until then.

Halting she listened, her short white skirt fluttered in the breeze, a window on the left side of the hallway stood open. She popped out the screen and climbed through, careful not to make a sound. On the inside of the manor to the left of the window, was a door that led to a room she had been inside of only once, when she was six.

Her father used to leave the door open, she used to be able to peak in whenever she wanted, but one day she wandered into the office. There were two rooms, one, the one directly entered through the door was a large and spacious sitting room, with skylights and white furniture and carpet. The other room was a large office, when she had been in there she got a brief glimpse but she could not bring her self to remember the details. As a young girl she had enjoyed playing with her dolls in the sitting room, after her mother passed away when she was four she liked being closer to her father, even if it meant sitting outside his office as her worked. He always left the door unlocked, but she never went in there, he had specifically told her not to, and she obeyed, until one day.

It was one of those days that she never forgot, like the day she was told her mother had died or the day she was forced to move from her small cottage like home in St. Louis to the large cold modern one in Washington D.C.

She had been hungry and she ought to have head down to the kitchen to ask the cook to make her something for lunch but she had been craving McDonalds, and she knew the cook always made healthy food, but her dad, if she was lucky, might abandon his desk and they could hop in the car and drive the 20 minutes to McDonalds. She slowly pushed the cherry door open and found her father sitting at a huge desk talking into his cell phone, even six years later she still remembered his words, "Send 50 more, he must be captured!"

She remembered the look on his face when he turned around at the sound of the door; it was a mixture of horror and pure anger, "Get out! Haven't I told you never to come in here? Get out this instant and NEVER come in again! Do you hear me?"

After that she had bolted out of the room, not to return for years. It was this memory that flashed through her head as she stood outside, with the widow she had just come out of to her right and the window to the forbidden room right in front of her. She popped the screen right off of it, the entrance to their manor was so heavily secured that her father had not bothered to have alarms installed on the windows. She took a deep breath, lifted up the window, and stepped inside.

The room had the air of something that had become neglected, she knew that lately her father had been at the office, where ever that was, she didn't even know what her father's job was. Once she had asked and he had vaguely told her he was a business man, to her that could mean numerous things, she wanted to know the truth, and that was why she was standing in a room that her father had repeatedly denied her entry to.

Her bare feet pounded across the white carpet, ears straining to hear the conversation taking place in her father's office, from what she could tell there were four people in there, it was odd, her father having guests at this hour, but then again nothing about her father was normal, his secretive manor, his sudden move from St. Louis to Washington D.C., and even when they were in St. Louis, he never seemed to be home and her mother would never explain why.

The voices were hushed so it was difficult to discern what they were saying, but she managed to determine they were all male and seemed to be concerned. On the other side of the door she could hear the four men rise and begin walking toward the door, now she could hear their conversation clearly, "We are talking about a threat to the entire country here, and this is no laughing matter, you cannot just sit there and pretend nothing happened, luckily the system caught it and we were able to rid ourselves of it before it got close enough for the people to realize, but what if we hadn't? Just consider the panic that would ensue." The person's voice seemed oddly familiar, as though she had heard it before.

But if that statement managed to shock her it was nothing compared to the next one, "Just remember, as the head of the CIA it is you job to find out where the threat came from and eliminate it." the voice she had heard often, she always watched his speeches on TV.

"And it is your job, as the head of M16 to assist in anyway possible, the Untied States is our ally and we shall assist them." this was spoken by the first man.

"Well we at the CIA greatly appreciate M16's help Mr. Blunt, it was very nice meeting you and I plan to…" her father broke off as he opened the door and saw her standing on the other side sitting on his couch with legs and arms crossed.

His face went white and he managed to stutter, "How much did you hear?"

It was the only time she had heard her father stutter, and she knew she had stumbled onto something big, "Enough." she replied, "Enough to know that you are not a business man, enough to know that you are the head of the CIA." she spoke the last few words with such a ferocity that she could almost sense her father recoil.

"I also heard enough to know that the people with you are not some co-workers, they are none other then the President of the United States, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, and the head of M16, Alan Blunt, so don't you _dare_ give me some crappy lie of yours!"

The three men standing near her father seemed to retreat slightly as though they wanted to put as much distance between themselves and the girl as possible, they appeared to briefly have a look of shock on their faces that a twelve year old girl managed all of this on her own. "What do I have to do to get you to be quiet about all of this?" he asked his daughter.

"I want to be told the truth, I want answers!" he looked stunned at these words and paused for a few moments.

The head of the CIA finally broke down and said in a quiet voice to his daughter, "What do you want to know?"

She replied with a little smirk, "Everything."

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Hope you enjoyed it!!! The next chapters will be up soon.

-Marissa


	2. Meeting New People

Alex Rider lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He could feel the warm sand beneath him, he looked around and saw a four girls walking down the beach, three had blonde hair but the fourth had dark curly hair that fell halfway down her back. She wore a pink cover up and when they stopped and set down their stuff, she pulled it off to reveal a bright pink bikini, her skin was a light cream, and she wore an oversized pair of sunglasses that covered most of her face. When she slid her sunglasses off and placed them in her Louis Vuitton bag it revealed bright green eyes that had a deadly look to them, as though they had seen much more then any teenage girl ought to. Alex watched as her three friends rushed into the water without a second glance, however the brunette girl bent down and pulled a large beach towel out of her bag, unrolled it onto the sand and laid down. After a few minutes she sat up and after a couple moments of rummaging in her bag she pulled out what appeared to be an ipod. The girl once again lay back on her towel, held her ipod up and searched for a song, or so it appeared to Alex.

Somewhere in the distance a loud bang resounded, Alex glanced up and saw, off to the west, smoke rising and a fire furling into the clear blue sky, before he knew what had happened the girl was gone, she had scooped up her bag and towel and had taken off into the busy streets.

He pulled himself off the warm sand and began to gather his things. M16 had given him a one week vacation in Porto Vecchio before he was set to return to London, and he intended to enjoy every minute of it. Alex Walked up to the road, slung his bag across his shoulder, and began the half mile trek back to the hotel where he would be staying for the coming week.

The road was lined with charming little shops and houses, but Alex found it hard to appreciate them, he kept thinking about that blast off in the distance, what had happened? He shook his head to clear it of thoughts of looking into it, after all he was on vacation, and it was most likely caused by some accidental thing, there was nothing to cause him to believe it had been done on purpose. Every time he got curious about something that he shouldn't it always turned out sour, he had vowed not to meddle anymore, and he planned to keep that vow, at least for the time being. After all every time he had, M16 had shown up and shipped him somewhere, and he had no tiny desire to do anything for those people. All Alex really wanted to do was finish his holiday in Porto Vecchio and then return to London and have some time to be normal for a change. He wanted a chance to be a normal teen for a change, one who went to the cinema with his friends, one who complained loudly about homework at times, and one who had no worry of M16.

On his left was a row of shops, a clothing boutique, a small shop that sold porcelain, a shop with a giant helicopter above the door and a sign that read Corsica International Aviation, and to finish the short block there was a quaint café with people outside chatting mindlessly.

Suddenly the brunette girl he had seen earlier walked out of Corsica International Aviation, she held her head down and she was looking at her ipod intently, the same one she had earlier. Alex looked to his left, toward the strikingly blue Tyrrhenian Sea and in that brief span if time when he took his eyes off of where he was going he collided head on with the brunette girl had seen earlier.

The contents of her bag went flying and she fell to the ground on her side, her dress slid up her thigh slightly and Alex caught a view of what seemed to be a black band as he fell to the ground himself. "Shit! I am so sorry!" the girl exclaimed.

"No, no, it's ok, really, it was my fault." Alex said as he pulled himself to his feet and helped the girl to hers, before gathering his possessions as she gathered hers. She shoved everything in her bag and hurried off pulling her dress down as she went, before Alex managed to get a look at the band around her thigh or even to ask her name.

Glancing down at the ground Alex noticed that she had forgotten something; he bent down to pick it up and saw that it was her Ipod. He looked at it and flipped it over, hoping for some clue as to who the girl was so he could return it to her. Turning it on he saw that the screen was not what was to be expected on an Ipod, it was asking for both a name and a password, something that Ipods were not usually meant to do. He experimentally entered a name, Ann, and a password, 123, the screen now read, Access denied, three tries remaining. Sighing Alex slipped the Ipod into his pocket and set off once again for the hotel.


	3. Barefoot

She quickly grabbed her stuff and rushed off, how could she have been careless enough to collide head on with that boy, and she spilled all of her stuff too, what if he had seen something? Yanking her dress down to cover the holster she wore around her thigh she set off toward her hotel. Her bag weighed heavily on her shoulder and as she switched it to her other a man walked by and grabbed it from her, on instinct she shouted, "What the Hell! Give me that!"

Cursing silently for yelling out in English instead of French she kicked of her high wedge shoes she ran after the man down the busy streets of Porto Vecchio. She started to reach for the gun at her thigh but thought better of it, after all he was probably just a common thief, and was it really worth blowing her cover completely in order to get her bag back more quickly, even without the gun she could get the bag back, she had to, it had her Ipod in it. Even though it looked like an Ipod it was actually a miniature super computer, capable of hacking into even the most complex and protected systems in the world.

Continuing to sprint through the packed streets she watched as the man ran and jumped into a boat waiting at the dock, and speed away. She turned away from the water with a groan, it wasn't the bag she would miss, it was the Ipod in it, and she dreaded going back to the CIA to ask for a new one because some common thief had gotten the best of her. Other then the Ipod there wasn't much in there, a bottle of sunscreen, a little bit of cash, some papers regarding her mission (thank God they were coded so only M16 or the CIA could decipher them), and a beach towel, things that she could easily replace. Her credit cards were safely in her hotel room, she copies of the papers back there as well, and the key to her room was tucked into the holster.

With a sigh she retraced her route to retrieve her shoes but when she arrived at the spot they had been left, she discovered that they too were gone, inside her head she couldn't help but think that everything seemed to be going wrong lately, first she was shipped to this island against her wishes (she had wanted to go skiing in the Alps with her best friend), then when given her assignment she almost walked out due to the nature of it, and now this idiot thief.

She stepped into an alley just briefly enough to pull a credit card out from between her holster and thigh. There had to be a store near by where she could replace her belongings, directly to her right there was a tiny boutique, which appeared as though it might carry some sort of shoes she could wear until she had a chance to replace the ones she lost, she could not enter any high end stores barefoot.

As she walked into the store she could hear a soft bell ring above her head and a lady with long red hair looked up from her position at the Cash Register. The shop was draped in scarves and shawls, with racks of skirts covering one wall, and racks of blouses covering another. On the far wall there was a small selection of shoes.

The shoes, as she soon discovered, consisted only of sandals and there were few sizes to choose from, selecting a pale pink pair that seemed to fit, she walked up to the cash register and handed them to the lady. With a smile the lady told her, "C'est être la Mademoiselle de douze euros. (That will be twelve Euros Miss)"

She handed the lady the credit card she still clutched in her hand, and in exchange she was handed back the sandals. After running the card through the machine the lady said, "Merci pour votre Mademoiselle d'affaires Laurent. (Thank you for your business Miss Laurent.)"

"Damn it!" she whispered quietly after being handed back her credit card. She had been so ignorant as to use her personal credit card while she was on an assignment. Her real name was Camille Laurent, but while she was in Porto Vecchio she was to be known as Helene Marseille, the daughter of a wealthy businessman in Paris, not Camille Laurent. Not that her cover really mattered to a simple shopkeeper, but she still tried not to let her real identity be known while on an assignment.

Camille stepped out of the shop and slipped on the sandals, they were slightly too small, but for the time being they would have to do. After getting her bearings she set off at a brisk pace toward a street where she knew there would be stores that sold a much wider variety of shoes, hopefully similar to the ones she lost.

After almost 20 minutes of walking, Camille reached what she had been looking for; it was an almost one mile stretch of high end retailers. It took her almost no time before she found a Christian Louboutin store. Entering she was hit with a gush of cool air that had been greatly missed in the tiny boutique earlier. Without having taken more then four steps into the shop a sales woman rushed up to her, "Comment puis-je vous aider Mademoiselle? (How can I help you Miss?)"

Looking around the shop briefly she noticed a pair of black patent leather sling back wedges, "Pourriez vous apportez-moi s'il vous plaît ceux dans une grandeur huit ? (Could you please bring me those in a size eight?)" She said as she pointed at the shoes. After her discovery of what her father truly did for a living he forced her into taking several languages, now she fluently spoke French, Spanish, Chinese, Korean, Arabic, Farsi, Persian, Russian, and Italian. Moving over to one of the white suede chairs Camille carefully pulled out another one of the credit cards at her thigh.

"Mademoiselle." the lady came hurrying out of the back with a shoebox under her arm, when she reached Camille in the chair she handed the box to her and watched as she slipped the shoes onto her feet, they were a perfect fit and after handing the shoes and her credit card to the woman Camille stood up and looked around the store once more before the woman returned carrying a shopping bag and her credit card. She took the items and walked out of the store without another word.

Deciding she ought to head back to her hotel, she had plenty of handbags there; Camille turned to the right and headed toward the resort. It took nearly an hour before she had reached Diamant Bleu Resort and in the Corsica heat it felt as though she had been walking for much longer, once she reached the resort she almost ran to her suite and plopped down in the middle of the king bed, exhausted from her day, and quickly drifted off to sleep, still fully clothed.


	4. Handbags and Boats

Well here it is the fourth chapter, now I didn't get many reviews, now did I. But I thank those that did review!!!

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider, if I did things would be alot different, for one I wouldn't be moving from mom to dad constantly, not to mention things in the books that I'd change.

READ AND **REVIEW**!!!!!

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Alex was sweating within minutes of setting off for the hotel and looking around for some escape from the extreme heat he noticed a small café with white lettering above it that read, "Café le Blanc (The White Café)." Upon entering he felt a cool rush of air hitting his face, inside it was decorated in all white, white tables, white chairs, white counter tops, white everything. A petite woman came up to him, "Bonjour monsieur, pour être placé à l'intérieur ou à l'extérieur (Hello sir would you like to be seated inside or outside)?"

Alex replied without any hesitation, "l'interieur (inside)," he had no wish whatsoever to return to the oven called the outside he had just exited. The woman led him to a small table near a wall of large windows overlooking the coast, handed him a menu and walked away leaving him to browse the menu and enjoy the view.

Outside he could see people sunbathing, others swimming and still others boating. The waves lapped up against the shore and as he watched Alex fell into a sort of stupor following them as they rose and fell and rose again. He looked down at the menu in his hand, he wasn't really very hungry, and he just needed an escape from the heat outside. After almost ten minutes the woman returned to take his order, "Que puis-je recevoir pour vous monsieur? (What can I get for you sir?)"

"Juste une salade (Just a salad)," Alex responded with an air of exhaustion. Admittedly he had gotten more rest lately then he had before, but he kept waking in the middle of the night with nightmares of dying people he had shot, on each mission MI6 had sent him on people had died, some because of him, some for other reasons, but no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that they deserved to die, he couldn't get over the fact that he had killed them, he was a murderer.

As much as Alan Blunt wanted to turn him into a cold hard MI6 agent, he couldn't become that, he couldn't kill people; maybe that was why they wouldn't give him a gun, because they knew he didn't have the courage to actually use it. He remembered when he had been sent by Scorpia to kill Mrs. Jones, as much as she had hurt him, no matter how many times she had sent him on missions where he almost died, if not for a combination of luck, and incredible timing, he wouldn't be sitting where he was. Maybe if he was lucky he would be sitting in a hospital bed somewhere, pieced back together like Conrad. The thought made him shiver.

As he continued to watch the waves lapping over the shore his thought strayed once again to the girl he had ran into, he subconsciously grabbed the Ipod in his pocket, as if checking that it was still there. Perhaps the Ipod was nothing to wonder about, perhaps she was nothing more then a tourist, perhaps Alex was getting himself all worked up over something unimportant, but somehow he didn't think so.

Then there was the band around her leg. Could it just be an accessory? No, he doubted it, he had seen something of the sort before, but he just couldn't place where. The thoughts of this carried him away until he was jolted back to reality by the sound of the server setting down his plate and walking away. Alex looked down and saw a pile of leaves with some chicken mixed in, not very appetizing, but was he really very hungry?

Half heartedly he picked at the salad for a few minutes before something outside of the window caught his eye. It was a man on a silver boat and there was a bag floating in the water in his wake, not knowing what gave him the urge, Alex left some money on the table and hurried outside.

Immediately he was hit by a wave of heat but he ran to the water despite. He entered and swan the 10 meters out toward the bag floating in the water, to passersby he must look a sight, diving into the water to retrieve a bag. Alex swam back quickly and sat down on the hot sand to examine the bag. When he looked closely at it he remembered seeing one identical to it earlier, the girl he had run into was carryining it.

He ran his fingers over it; the outside was printed with the Louis Vuitton logo. Even knowing very little about fashion himself he could tell it was a pricy bag, the girls at his school talked constantly about items like this, and after a day of over hearing them you knew that a bag like this was very expensive and one of this size would be even more expensive, who ever had owned this bag had money to spare.

After a once over of the bag he opened it. Inside he took out the items one by one, a beach towel, a bottle of sunscreen, 100 Euros, and a large manila envelope, which he hurriedly opened. Inside he couldn't help feeling a bit guilty about prying into this girl's personal bag, but after a thought back to the mysterious Ipod and his curiosity successfully squashed any remaining guilt. Inside he found page after page of documents in what appeared as gibberish, the first characters read as, EQDOSST-COEZGKOQ-SQXKTFZ, made absolutely no sense to him. With a sigh he packed all of the items back into the bag and headed back toward Diamant Bleu Resort where he was staying with plans to work out the code when the next morning, he was exhausted and the sun was setting.

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Well there it is, I do hope you enjoyed it, maybe enough to drop me a little review, or even if you hated it, drop me a review. If anyone can figure out the meaning of the code above, I'll send you the next chapter in advance if you personal message me with your answer.

I am very sorry about the lack of dialog in the past few chapters, I promise the next chapters will have a lot more, but these first few chapters are kind of setting up for the rest of the story.

Till Next Time...

I love you all, expecially those who review!!!


	5. Head On Collision

Camille woke with the Corsican sun shinning brightly in her eyes. Rolling away from the source of the light she tried to go back to sleep but after almost forty-five minutes she was still awake. With a sigh she pulled herself out of the comfort of the silk bedding and searched through the dark wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room until she found what she was looking for, a black Michael Kors bikini. Quickly she changed out of her pajamas and slipped the bikini on, along with a tunic style top that reached her knees as a cover up.

Slipping on her flip flops and grabbing her room key, Camille headed out of her room and down the long white marble covered hallway toward the pool. She could feel the warm breeze coming from her right where the wall was open with only a wrought iron railing separating the inside from the beautiful flowered filled courtyard in the center of the hotel. This hotel was selected for her, and it took her only a short time to learn the layout. In the center there was a courtyard, completely enclosed by the rooms, each floor surrounded it in a square and the halls were open to the elements. The pool was down on the level with the foyer, off to the left side opposite of the gymnasium.

As she made her way down to the pool she thought of the Ipod she had lost, it made her want to groan, it had important files on it that she hadn't yet had time to send to the CIA, they would be furious at her for losing those files. Her silver sandals clicked over the marble floor of the foyer, she stifled a large yawn, it had taken her a long time to fall to sleep the previous night, and even when she had it was a light restless sleep. Hopping the water would wake her up she pushed the glass door open dumped her towel on a lounge chair and stripped off her top.

The pool was 25 meters long and to the right there was a waterfall and hot tub surrounded by tropical foliage. Camille jumped in and felt the cool water rush up around her; pushing off the bottom she began to swim laps. She had been swimming for almost and hour before she noticed a boy hop into the water and start to swim, she should have moved but she didn't want to, they just collided head on.

"Déplacez-le! (Move it)" Camille exclaimed, tossing her hair out of her face as she surfaced.

"Désolé," Alex muttered, before looking at the girl's face and recognizing her as the owner of the Ipod he had found, he looked down at her bikini, he couldn't tell what brand it was, but it looked expensive. He couldn't help but think she was a bit spoiled.

"Sont vous ici sur les vacances? (Are you here on vacation?) Alex suddenly said, he wanted to know more about this girl, there was something odd about her that he couldn't quite place his finger on.

"I speak English you know."

Alex responded, "How did you know I was British?" he couldn't help but think how nice it felt not to have to hide his identity.

"Your accent," she said simply, making sure to throw in a French accent, she couldn't have her cover blown by this boy.

This struck Alex as odd; he didn't think he had an accent, or at least that had been what MI6 thought. Also, he couldn't help but notice that she spoke her English with a slight French accent, why would a spoiled brat learn English.

"And anyway yes, my father sent me here for holiday, I have friends here. My father is a business man in Paris." As Camille said it she couldn't help but feel disgusted with herself, she sounded like an airhead, the kind she had hated in school when she was younger, if she was going to act like that she might as well do it right, she added a flip of her long hair and flashed a large smile.

"Oh, what's your name by the way?"

"Helene Marseille. And will you tell me why you are here," she said with a mischievous smile, adding a second flip of her hair for good effect.

"Just here on holiday," Alex had his reservations about this girl, however stupid she was acting now; there was something in the back of his mind telling him not to believe it, but she was acting like a spoiled brat, and he hoped she would leave.

There was something familiar about this boy, but Camille couldn't place her finger on it. She was sure she had seen him before, but where? "Well, I have to be going now," she said pulling herself out of the water.

"Oh, ok, bye." he was taken aback at how quickly she had decided to leave the pool.

Watching as she pulled herself out of the pool and toweled off, Alex couldn't help think that despite her brainless manner, she was quite pretty. He sighed and began to swim laps.


	6. They Must be Desperate

Back in her room Camille headed over to the wardrobe in the corner, pushing aside her clothing and shoes, she pulled out a thin 8x11 dark wood box out of the bottom. She pressed her thumb to a small metal piece on one end; the box sprung open revealing a set of documents. The top page held her name and other general information, the other pages held details of her mission. She had lost a set of these documents when the thief stole her bag, but she had encoded them so as to prevent curious eyes from reading them when she was in a public spot, they also did not have the photograph covering a good portion of the second page. Along with the photo the second, third, fourth, and fifth pages held details of her mission, the remaining pages held information about her fake identity.

Camille looked intently at the picture, the man pictured was in his mid fifties, with gray hair and a forgettable face, and he was wearing an expensive looking suit. The photo appeared to have been taken from above, as the man was entering a building. Below the photograph was his name and other general information about him, Camille had written multiple short notes in the margins. As she read the papers she mentally checked the task off, her mission was all but complete, she hoped it would take only a short while longer, it was growing old, and there was a nagging part off her brain that thought the entire thing was for lack of a better word, pointless. What was the use of it, there would always be another group to take its place, and with Scorpia falling apart, global terrorism was on the decline. What was so special about this one group? So far she had found nothing, not a shred of evidence that they were anything different then the other million or so terrorist organizations out there, they made and sold weapons to other terrorists, small weapons at that.

After looking over the files for a bit more, her thoughts turned to the boy in the pool, she knew she had seen him before, but where? Maybe she would see him again, maybe she could act a little more normal, she hated her cover, and she had to act like a spoiled millionaire business man from Paris's daughter. Camille was a far cry from that; those were the people she hated, the ones she despised. It took her a little while to think to look him up on her laptop, but almost immediately she realized she couldn't do much, she didn't have a picture of the boy, and she didn't catch his name. A loud growl from her stomach brought her back to reality; she grabbed some clothes, changed, and headed out for lunch.

After only fifteen minutes Alex decided he would rather relax in his room then continue to swim, he clambered out of the pool, grabbed one of the hotel towels, slipped on his sandals, and headed back to his room. Almost immediately after returning, Alex set about looking through the bag again. He was almost certain it was Helene's bag; or rather he had seen her carrying a very similar one at the beach the previous day.

He pulled out the encoded pages and read them, he didn't realize it but he was muttering every word out loud, "EQDOSST SQXKTFZ HGKZG CTEEIOG ROQDGFZ WSTX KTLGKZ YSOUIZ QQ6719," he read off the first page, he turned to the second page and found a large empty space with text surrounding it completely, he read the firs line, "SQXOL EKQFT," before tuning to the next page hoping it would say something he could understand, "ITSTFT DQKLTOSST," with a large sigh he placed the papers back into the bag, and pulled out the Ipod.

He turned it on and entered the name Helene in the name space and tried the password Marseille, "Access denied, three tries remaining," it read back to him. Alex continued trying the passwords Paris and even ABC, he knew they wouldn't work but he was still disappointed that it read back to him, "Access denied, one try remaining."

He shoved back into the bag and lay back against his pillows and let his eyes fall closed, a nice little nap was just what he needed.

Hundreds of kilometers away a man sat in a small windowless room, with only a wall of television monitors and a chair. He was wearing a pair of headphones and staring glassy eyed at one of the screens. The room was bleak, white walls, white linoleum flooring, and a white door. It had the kind of sterile look that you would see in hospitals, that was depressing and dreary, it even smelled like a hospital, with a smell of bleach that seemed to be everywhere, or at least everywhere the man had been. Two weeks ago he had been pulled away from his job as a security guard at the front desk, and told for that for a week he would be watching this wall of monitors and if there was any interesting activity he was to report go directly to Mrs. Jones, the head of Special Operations at MI6.

After the initial excitement of being given something other then the monotonous job at the front desk scanning ID badges he had realized that what he was assigned to do now was even duller. It was boring enough watching a wall of monitors all day, but it was worse having to watch a teenage boy do nothing but sleep, eat, swim, and eat some more.

Why this boy was so special did intrigue him, but not enough to cause him to pay much more attention to the monitors though. He was curious, however, as to why he was to go straight to the head of special operations with anything interesting; he had never so much as been on the floor where all of the leaders of MI6 worked before. From what he had heard about that floor, the top floor coincidentally, it was much different then the others, besides the basement, where the technology department supposedly was, even the maintenance people had to have special clearance to clean there.

A sound coming from the head phones brought him back from his trance, the boy was muttering some random letters, rummaging in the drawer, beneath the table, and he hurriedly pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and started to scribble the letters down. It seemed to be some sort of code. With a glance to the monitor he noticed the boy was reading a few pages and he had a very confused expression on his face. He seemed to occasionally skip portions of the documents, and the more he read the more confused he became.

About five minutes after the man began writing the code, the boy laid the paper down on a table next to his bed, climbed in and drifted into a light sleep. For almost half an hour the man pondered what to do, he was told to go straight to Mrs. Jones with anything interesting, but what if this turned out to be nothing, he didn't want to mess this up. He eventually decided to take it to the members of the cryptology department, he had a friend there, if it turned out to be a code, an important one, he would go straight to Mrs. Jones, if not he would go back to this dull job.

He pulled up a still shot of each of the pages and printed them. Almost running to the cryptology department, he reached it in less than ten minutes, quite an accomplishment when you think of the half mile of hallways, and multiple security checks.

Breathlessly he ran up to his friend, "Mark, I need you to tell me what this is," he panted.

From day one at MI6 Mark had learned to do what he was told and not ask too many questions, so after dumping his coffee he took the paper and set off through the crowded room filled with cubicles until he reached his own, sitting down at the desk he booted up his computer and typed in the password. The man who only an hour ago had been lazily watching the monitors stood there and watched as his short time friend hurriedly typed in a series of commands for the computer, before entering the code that was shown on the printout of the papers in the boy's hand. Almost immediately he came back with results and printed them.

Stuttering he handed them to the man, "Jeff, take these to Mrs. Jones right away, don't wait and don't let anyone see these, under no circumstances tell anyone else about this."

Jeff grabbed the papers and set off at a full sprint to the special elevator that would take him the top floor, pushing aside people in his haste to get there. Showing his security badge to the obviously armed guard standing outside the doors, he stepped inside. It was a standard elevator looking just like the ones in the rest of the building, nothing remarkable, not that he could see that is.

Little did he know that currently he was being scanned for, guns, knives, or anything that could obviously used as a weapon, biological, chemical and nuclear weapons, he was being put through a retina scan that had his identity not been confirmed and he have been already granted access, he would have immediately been shot.

A small bell rang somewhere, signaling that the elevator had reached its desired floor; Jeff stepped out and even in his hurry to reach Mrs. Jones's office he had to stop and look. This was a far cry from the sterile looking rooms that were all he had ever entered before at MI6. The floor was a polished white marble with small black inlays; the hall he had entered was paneled in gleaming dark wood and from the ceiling hung a chandelier, combined it achieved a grand effect.

He quickly pulled himself back to the task at hand and away from the décor, he ran down the hall before, with a jolt, realizing he had no idea where Mrs. Jones's office was, or how to find it. He should not have been worried though, he continued down the hall and after passing smaller hallways leading off of it, he reached a large room with offices everywhere. Looking about for a door with a nameplate of Mrs. Jones, it tool him only a minute before he found what he was looking for.

Trying the doorknob he found that it was locked, a voice sounded from a small intercom to the side of the door, "Name please."

"Jeffery Canter," he responded.

"Jeffery Canter, Jeffery…," she muttered, "Oh! Come in please, quickly if you don't mind."

He pushed open the newly locked door and found a secretary sitting at a small desk with another door leading off to what he must assume was Mrs. Jones office. In fact it was just after he had closed the door that a woman wearing a grey suit came hurrying out of the office, "Come on, let's go to my office, we can talk there."

Trailing behind her he couldn't help but let his hands tremble as they clutched the papers. He had never so much as known the name of the head of the Special Operations division, much less thought he would be in her office.

"Sit down," she commanded.

Not wanting to disobey, he sat in one of the rigid chairs in front of her desk.

"Now what do you have for me," she said in a cold voice, as she unwrapped a peppermint from the small dish that sat on her desk.

Jeff handed her the printed decoded version, along with the coded version. As she read it he could see her eyes narrow and her mouth becoming thinner and thinner.

With a tone of accusation in her voice she said, "Who decoded this?"

"Uh… Mark Vail, you know in cryptology," he could hear his voice shake as he said it.

"And you thought it would be ok to involve someone else in this?" Jeff opened his mouth to speak but Mrs. Jones held up her hand to stop him, "Did I not tell you specifically to come straight to me with everything?"

Jeff muttered something incomprehensible along the lines of I didn't want to bother you.

Mrs. Jones ignored this, and instead she said, "You and Mark are to go to your respective homes, and not return until tomorrow, do you think you can do that?"

"Yes," Jeff muttered before getting up and leaving. Little did either Mark or he know, they would never make it to their homes, in fact they would never do anything again.

Mrs. Jones grabbed the papers off her desk and headed to Alan Blunt's office. Not even bothering to knock she barged right in, past his secretary and dropped the papers on his desk with a loud smack.

Not even looking up at her he reached for the papers and read them, his eyes quickly scanning the information, that judging by the frown, was not at all to his taste. After five minutes he sighed and looked up at the woman standing over him.

"You do know what this means?" she asked him.

With a sigh blunt set down the file and asked, "Yes, I do. But the question is, does she?"

"I know you don't think highly of the CIA, but they know much more then you give them credit for, but no I don't think she knows the truth."

"But the more pressing question is: how did Alex get his hands on this? It's a code that only a select few in the CIA and MI6 know? Does Camille know it though?"

Blunt seemed to look more worried and puzzled every minute they continued to talk, "I can't answer any of those questions yet, but I will say this: Camille knows a lot, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was taught this code as a way to communicate with her superiors, whether her father knows about all this is questionable."

Mrs. Jones face flickered with a look of surprise but quickly faded into its emotionless mask again, "He is the director of the CIA, how could he not know?"

"He may be the director, but that doesn't mean he knows everything, you never know what they might keep from him. In fact I can almost guarantee he didn't know about this."

"Well that is obvious; if file is referring to the person I think it is."

"Sadly, I'm afraid it is." and Blunt's normally emotionless face actually held a look of sadness.

"There is one thing I don't understand about this, why did they not tell us this?" Mrs. Jones asked as she unwrapped another peppermint, this one out of her pocket.

"Maybe they thought I wouldn't want it to be true and wouldn't believe them," Alan Blunt said with a cold humorless laugh.

Puzzled Mrs. Jones asked, "But to send Camille?"

"They must be desperate,"

"Or stupid," Mrs. Jones muttered quietly.

Alan Blunt ignored this quip about the CIA and Mrs. Jones continued, "What do we do about Alex and Camille?"

After thinking for a moment Blunt looked Mrs. Jones in the eye and said coldly, "Bring them in."

I hope you like it! I know it's a good bit longer then my normal chapters but I was on a roll and couldn't stop, so here you go, a nice long chapter. Now all you have to do to get another one is REVIEW!!!!!

I would really like to know what you think I could do to improve the story, so put them in a review and press submit, it only takes a little while, so please do it.

- Marissa


	7. Not You People

Camille's sharp blue eyes scanned the room, she was sitting in one of the five restaurants the hotel offered, and this one was casual with an Asian influence. She sat there with a glass filled with iced tea, she wasn't hungry, just bored. The server came up to her small table and set down her lunch without a word. Camille had ordered a grilled chicken salad. She could not bring herself to eat anything, so she picked at her food for a while.

Alex snored softly, curled up in the silk bedding he slept soundly. He had been in Porto Vecchio for three nights, and was not looking foreword to going back to London, and MI6. After being scooped out of the ocean off the coast of Australia, Alex had been flown back to MI6 headquarters in London. There he had been debriefed on his mission, after a while he was allowed to go home for the night with the requirement that he come back the next morning to speak with Mrs. Jones about something or another.

That entire night he had dreaded going back to the retched Royal and General Bank, thinking he would be shipped off on another mission to some obscure part of the world. He remembered the meeting the following morning well:

"Alex!" Jack had called to him.

Still half asleep Alex had climbed out of bed and walked into the kitchen surprised to find Jack holding the phone impatiently.

"It's for you," she told him, holding the phone out to him.

He grunted and took the phone from her, "Hello?" he muttered sleepily.

"Yes, Alex, this is Mrs. Jones, I-"

"What do you want?" he interrupted rudely.

She continued calmly, "Mr. Blunt and I would like it if you would come in today around noon."

"Yeah, you already told me that yesterday, but if you felt the need to call at," he threw a glanced at the clock, "7:30 in the morning and disturb my first night of peaceful sleep at home to tell me this so be it."

Mrs. Jones's voice was still one of calm, but with a slight hint of softness in it, "Well just make sure to be in at 12:00 Alex."

"Fine," he retorted.

Mrs. Jones had always been slightly more concerned with his well being then the heartless Blunt, who could have sent anyone to his death without a second thought, but for her to be nice to him, what had the world come to. He shook his head to clear it, and by the time he had dressed it was long gone.

After dressing, Jack handed him a plate with some macaroni and cheese on it. He felt sick, he didn't want to go on another mission for MI6, he didn't want to be shot at, and he didn't want to kill anyone. The image of Mrs. Jones when he was sent to kill her still burned in his mind, no matter what anyone said, Alex was not a killer, he would never be one.

For almost fifteen minutes Alex picked at the food, eating only a few bites before Jack spoke up, "Alex, just go, you can eat when you get back its fine."

Alex didn't answer, he just stood up from the table and walked out the door. The bike ride to MI6 was much shorter then he would have wished.

When he arrived he found Mrs. Jones waiting in the lobby for him, "Alex, how are you doing?"

"Fine," he muttered.

Mrs. Jones looked as dreary as ever, she was wearing a navy suit, and was sucking on a peppermint. She turned toward the elevators and Alex followed, instead of leading him to the bank of elevators he normally used, she led him to one at the end of a long hall. As if reading his mind Mrs. Jones said, "This elevator will take us directly to Blunt's office."

Alex noted the guards standing on either side of the doors, they wore suits and he knew they carried guns, and would not hesitate to shoot. The inside of the elevator was different as well, it had ruby carpet on the floor and the walls were paneled in a dark wood. Once they were both inside, Mrs. Joes placed her hand on a glass panel, typed in a password on the newly revealed keypad, and swiped an ID badge she had produced from a pocket. Apparently it was satisfied, because the panel and key pad disappeared as quickly as it had come.

The elevator ride took less then a minute, way too short for Alex, who was seriously considering running straight out of here if he was told he had to go on another mission. He followed Mrs. Jones down the hallway that led to Alan Blunt's office.

His office was the same as ever, cold and boring, much like the man that inhabited it. Blunt was sitting with his back to the door, seemingly talking on the phone, Alex caught a few words, "Yes, but-, are you sure she can get them? If we don't get those files it will be a catastrophe" He cut off as he noticed that both Alex and Mrs. Jones had entered the room.

Blunt muttered some indistinguishable words into the phone and set it down on his desk. "So, Alex how are you doing?" his voice was as cold and emotionless as ever.

"Well I was fine before you people decided to wake me up at 7:00 this morning." He didn't care how rude he was being, it's not like being polite would get him anywhere. "So where are you shipping me off to this time, Antarctica?"

Blunt made to speak, but Mrs. Jones sensing dangerous waters but in, "Actually, Alex we thought you needed a small vacation after that last mission."

Alex was stunned, "A vacation?"

"A vacation. We thought you might enjoy the island of Corsica for two weeks, Porto Vecchio to be exact."

Alex was stunned at this, and for the first few days of his vacation he had been on the lookout for any sign of MI6, but by now he had settled into a comfortable rhythm. He dreaded returning to London where he would return to school to find a flurry of new rumors about him.

A loud ringing noise awoke him from this happy state. It took him a few moments to figure out where the noise was coming from. Finally he picked up the phone sleepily, "Hello?"

"Alex, this is Mrs. Jones-" Alex cut her off.

"Not you. Look, why can't you people understand? I don't want to work for you, so leave me alone."

Mrs. Jones continued in her crisp business like voice, "I'm afraid you have no choice, actually we are asking you to come in as quickly as possible. We shall provide you with the details of your mission when you arrive. At the front desk you shall find an envelope. You are to give this to Camille Laurent."

"Who?" Alex had never met anyone named Camille and had no idea who Mrs. Jones was talking about.

He could here muttering in the background, "You might know her as Helene Marseille."

Alex racked his brain to remember, after a few moments he remembered the girl he ran into at the pool, the girl who's Ipod he had. He started to ask what she had to do with all of this, but Mrs. Jones ended the conversation, "Goodbye," and hung up.

He was left lying in his bed wondering what this girl had to do with MI6, she was French, or at least her accent was. Glancing at the clock he saw he had been napping for almost two hours. With a groan he pulled himself out of bed, slipped on his shoes, grabbed the room key off the desk, and headed down to the lobby.

Alex walked over to the front desk and asked the concierge hesitantly, "On m'a dit que vous avez une lettre pour moi. (I was told you have a letter for me.)"

The concierge seemed to rummage around a bit before he produced a brown manila envelope and handed to Alex, "Oui monsieur. (Yes sir)"

Alex took the envelope from the concierge's hand and hurried back up to his room. He grabbed a pot and filled it with a little bit of water, there was a small kitchen in the room and he set the pot on the range and turned the heat to high. It took little under five minutes for the water to boil.

Knowing he had to hurry Alex held the envelope over the pot and waited before sliding his thumb under one end of the flap and gradually sliding it down opening the envelope. He knew he had to be careful not to rip it, who knows what MI6 would do if they found out he had read classified documents.

Finally it was open, eagerly Alex pulled out the documents, he eagerly began to scan the first page, but almost instantly his face fell. They were in that same obnoxious code as the document he had found in the purse he had fished out of the sea.

Defeated he stuck the papers back in the envelope and sealed it up again, careful to make it look exactly the same as before. Alex headed back out the door, slamming it with unwarranted venom. He practically ran down to the lobby and once again went up to the concierge, "What room is Helene Marseille staying in?" he didn't even bother with French.

"Monsieur, I cannot tell you that." his English was heavily accented with French. "That information is private, but I can tell you I saw her go into Tsai Chang restaurant only a bit ago."

"Merci," Alex murmured, before dashing off to Tsai Chang restaurant.

A man walked up to him as soon as he was through the doorway, "Vous comme une table par la fenêtre monsieur? Would you like a table by the window?"

Once again Alex didn't even bother with speaking French, "No, I was looking for a girl, her name is Helene Marseille."

"Um…what does she look like?"

Alex struggled to remember what Helene, or Camille, or whoever, "Well, she is tall, brunette, about fifteen."

"I think she is over there by the window," he pointed to a table where a girl with curly brown hair sat picking at her food.

Alex walked over and stood over her until she noticed him. Eventually she turned around, "Oh, I didn't expect to see you again so soon," he voice still had a heavy French accent.

"Cut the crap, Camille or Helene, or whoever you are!" Alex exclaimed angrily.

Her usually bubbly manner faded in an instant, her face became emotionless, and her voice was as cold as ice, "I don't know what you are talking about," she still had the French accent.

Alex produced the envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, "MI6 told me to give you this," he slammed the envelope of the table, causing the glass of tea she was drinking to shake and a bit to spill.

She picked up the envelope and examined the seal, "Have you opened this?" her French accent was now non-existent, as was any accent in her voice.

"No," Alex said on instinct, "It's sealed isn't it?"

"Yes, but it isn't that hard to steam open an envelope," her voice still had that icy quality but now with a note of steel.

She opened the envelope and scanned the pages quickly; obviously she understood the code. It took her about five minutes to read the six pages of information, "Gather your stuff, and meet me in the parking lot in," she checked her watch, "thirty minutes."

Alex started to ask her who she was, but she had already gotten up, set some money on the table and left the restaurant. Oh well, he could always ask her later, he had a feeling they were going to be seeing quite a lot of each other. He walked out of the restaurant and up to his room. He gathered everything; luckily he had never completely unpacked. All he had to do was grab all of his items out of the wardrobe.

While he was rummaging through his bag he found the Ipod, he knew he would have to give it back to her soon, so he tried one more time, entering the name Camille and the password, well he just guessed at Marseille. The screen read, "Invalid entry, three tries remaining. With a sigh he slipped it into his pocket, grabbed his duffel and headed down to the lobby.

Helene, or Camille, wasn't waiting there, so he assumed she was out in the lot waiting for him. Heading outside he was hit by a wave of hot humid air, he looked around for a few moments before he spotted her. Alex started to walk over, but he stopped dead. She was a sight to behold. He gave her a once over and took in everything, her giant black Channel sunglasses, her Dolce and Gabbana black and white polka dot camisole, her skin tight dark Versace jeans tucked into her black stiletto Jimmy Choo boots, and the pounds of jewelry she wore looped around her neck and wrists. To add to this imposing sight she was leaning against a silver Mercedes SLR McLaren. Tom loved cars, and from what Alex had heard, this was one of the most expensive, somewhere around 300,000 pounds.

Alex walked up to her tentatively, turning to look at him through blue emotionless eyes hidden behind the dark glasses, she said, "Put your stuff in the car and get in," her voice was cold and emotionless and her manner gave nothing away, she reminded Alex of someone, but he just couldn't place his finger on it. Shrugging off that feeling, he shoved his stuff in the trunk and climbed in on the right side. This was Corsica and the driver was on the left side, he assumed she would drive, given it was her car.

The interior was luxuriously done in black leather, Alex watched as Camille typed something into the GPS system, this was normal enough, but what she did next surprised Alex. She opened the center console and after a bit of rummaging she pulled out two handguns, a GLOCK 9mm, and a Wilson .45 subcompact. Without a word she handed the GLOCK to Alex and tucked the .45 into her waistband, covering it with her loose fitting top.

"What do we need these for?" Alex was curious as to why a teenage would have two guns in her car.

"Just in case," her voice gave him the chills, it reminded him of Blunt, cold heartless and void of any human emotion.

"Who are you again?" his voice had a bit of an edge to it.

"Camille," she didn't look at him, just straight ahead to where she was driving.

Camille dug into the center console again, but this time she pulled out two passports, one which she slipped inside her black Prada purse, and the other she handed to Alex. It had his name and photo on it, and he could only guess MI6 had supplied it.

"Where are we going? How did you get this?" he held up the passport.

"London."

"Ok, but how did you get this?"

"MI6," she said simply.

Alex tried to make conversation, "Nice car."

Camille didn't even look at him, much less say anything, maybe this would be harder then he thought, "How did MI6 manage to rope you in?"

"I'm not with MI6." her voice was still cold.

"Then who are you with?"

"That is my business," a faint hint of annoyance had crept into her voice, "It will be four hours before we reach the airport, I suggest you get some sleep."

Alex said nothing. He remembered his first impression of her, a spoiled stupid brat. He decided to change that, she wasn't a spoiled stupid brat, she was worse, she was just like the rest of MI6, and she was a cold hearted bitch. With this thought Alex turned over in his seat and fell asleep.


	8. Plane Rides

Alex awoke to the hum of an engine. He slowly opened his eyes and looked around before he remembered he was in Camille's car. They were speeding toward a large group of buildings that he could only assume was the airport. Looking over at Camille he saw she was still looking intently at the road in front of her, she had not even glanced over when he had woken up.

It took less then 30 minutes for them to reach the airport. When they did Alex expected to stop at the front entrance, but instead Camille pulled her Mercedes SLR McLaren around to a large runway. It was separated from the rest of the tarmac by the terminal. There was a jet waiting in the middle of the far end that appeared to be waiting for them.

As they neared to jet Alex saw that there were about 25 men, all wearing dark suits gathered around the jet, all of them were obviously armed. Why on earth did you need this sort of security for two teenagers? As Camille pulled the car off to one side of the runway the door of the plane began to open and steps began to fold downward.

Camille opened her door and got out of the car. Alex assumed he should follow and he stepped out of the car and onto the hot asphalt. The hot sun streamed down on him and he immediately started to sweat. Camille was already walking toward the plane, she paused only for a moment to hand the keys to the car to one of the dark suited men.

Up the metal stairs and down a short hall, Alex found himself standing on the inside of a large main cabin that was luxuriously decorated. Eight large white leather seats stood right in front of him, and behind him a large plasma television. Alex could feel the plush cream carpet beneath his feet.

Looking around he saw Camille looking right at home, "Is this your jet?"

"No," her voice was as cold as ever.

"Then whose is it?"

"The CIA's."

Alex felt something click in the back of his brain, "Does that mean you work for them?"

Her face took on a slight look of annoyance, "Didn't I already tell you that was my business."

Alex didn't bother to respond, it wouldn't make any difference. He flopped down onto one of the seats as Camille headed toward a door at the rear of the plane. The seat was soft and comfortable, and despite having slept for almost four hours he could feel himself getting drowsy in the comfort of the leather.

A plump woman with graying hair came out of a small room at the front of the plane. "Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

Alex could feel his stomach rumbling; he had not eaten all day, "Um… could I please have a hamburger, chips, and a coke?"

"Yes sir," and she hurried back to what he could only assume was the kitchen of the plane.

Without any warning Alex felt the plane begin to taxi to the end of the runway. Scrambling around to find his seat belt he buckled it and prepared for take off. It suddenly struck him that he had no idea what he was doing or even where he was going. All he knew was MI6 wanted him to come in, and he was on the CIA's plane. He could only assume he was going to London, but then again what the hell did the CIA have to do with any of this?

As the plane rose into the air he thought of Camille, what was her problem? He barely knew her name, in fact he didn't know her surname, though he knew it was probably best not to ask her much, or to talk to her for that matter.

The woman came back carrying a platter with a burger, chips, and a bottle of coke. She set it down on the light colored wooden table to his right, and headed back to the kitchen without a word. Alex ate his food so fast his stomach began to ache. Washing it down with a bit of Coke he looked around for a remote for the television. In a small drawer in the table there were about ten remotes; with no idea which one was which.

By the time he had found the right one he had discovered that there was a remote to control the lights, one that he could press in order to call the lady back in, much to her annoyance, one controlled a surround sound speaker system, and the last he tried brought up a computer from the side of his seat.

For almost one and a half hours Alex amused himself by watching a football game from America. After a while though he grew bored and decided to stretch his legs a bit. He followed the aisle to the back of the plane, and stopped outside the door Camille had entered earlier. Through the door he could hear indistinguishable conversation, he thought in some foreign language, maybe Russian, but he could not be sure. Further down the hall he found three more offices, one in the very rear of the plane and one on either side. He pushed the door to the rear one open and found a room with a large modern steel and glass desk in the center, with a high tech computer sitting in the center. The walls were decorated in much the same fashion as the rest of the plane-white wooden paneling-whose intricacy contrasted starkly with the desk.

There was nothing in the room to suggest it had been used recently at all, and Alex sat down behind the desk in the large black leather executive chair. Almost immediately a man in a dark suit came into the room, "What are you doing in here?"

"Nothing."

"You aren't supposed to be in this part of the plane."

"Well no one ever told me that," there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but he got up and headed back to the chair he had been sitting in earlier.

Yeah I know, it's really short and it doesn't explain anything. Well it was supposed to be only half of a chapter, but I didn't get many reviews so I decided to be stingy. No, I'm just joking, the other half I'm fixing a bunch but I decided that I might as well post this half. I promise the next chapter will be much longer and explain one hell of a lot more!!!

Read, Review, and Enjoy!!

-Marissa


	9. Don't Need to Know

The screen of her laptop glowed in the dimly lit room. Camille sat behind a large glass and steel desk; it gave the room a cold modern feel, contrasting with the white paneling on the walls. Sitting in a plush grey leather chair she had been staring at the screen for the past hour, her eyesight was starting to blur over. There were numbers and letters scrolling past at a rapid pace, Camille wasn't taking any of it in.

After about fifteen more minutes a message came up on the screen and she typed in a password. An error message popped up, "Cannot access files," Camille wanted to scream. She needed those files. If she asked for them all she would get is some crappy watered down version, but she wanted the actual files, the originals. It seemed like she had only one way left to get them but she seriously did not want to resort to that. Only once had she been forced into that option and she did not want to have to take that path again.

Outside the door she could hear two people talking. Alex had apparently been in the back office. Not that it mattered, it took a password just to get on to the computer, much less let you do anything else. She could hear Alex still talking to the guard. Stifling a laugh she thought of Alex, why on earth did MI6 want this guy with her? She had first run into him before her bag was stolen, a sense of dread crept through her as she thought of her Ipod. On there was information that could not be replaced, there was no way, not after she had blown up the building.

* * *

The white leather was as soft and warm as he had left it, but he couldn't wait for the plane to land at its destination. Alex could only assume this was London. At the same time he dreaded landing, that would bring him closer to blunt and Jones, two people who he really didn't want to see. Maybe he could get out of this mission, but he doubted it. Not if they were as ruthless and mean as they were the past times. Blackmail first, what was next, holding a gun to his head and forcing him into the missions, with the threat of death if he didn't. He hoped they wouldn't sink that low. His experience with the world of MI6 and the CIA had told him differently however. From his very first mission where his life had been threatened multiple times by some idiot who was bent on releasing a deadly modified smallpox virus, he had been forced to learn the cold truth; you are never too young to die.

A voice sounded throughout the plane, "Prepare for landing at Heathrow International Airport." So he was going to London, and he would be seeing Blunt soon. He wondered if Camille would be going with him, all evidence so far had told him not to ask her anything, she would never give him a straight answer.

The landing was as smooth as could be expected. It taxied not to a gate as would be expected, but to a small area where a black limousine was waiting. Looking out the window Alex saw they had not landed on the usual compound of runways, but a single area of tarmac, separated from the rest by a long strip of grass.

Stopping directly in front of the limousine a stairway was lowered to the tarmac below. There was no sign of Camille coming out of the room she had been in for the entire flight, so Alex just walked down the steps, passed the dark suited armed guards, and into the limo.

Camille climbed in only moments later, absorbed in a stack of handwritten letters in Russian. The driver wore the same boring black suit as the guards, "The trip to Royal and General will take about 45 minutes; please help yourself to food and drink."

Alex looked around and saw a mini bar in one corner, the steel stood out against the black leather and suede interior of the limousine. Inside he found every kind of alcohol known to man. MI6 would apparently prefer their agents to be drunk while in a meeting, it sure would help to get them to agree to the job. Bypassing the beer he took a bottle of coke, Camille leaned over and grabbed a bottle of spring water.

The ride to MI6 headquarters was boring and monotonous, Camille didn't speak once and Alex had long ago given up trying to make conversation.

* * *

Inside Alan Blunt's office a woman in a grey suit stood behind the head of MI6 reading some papers; she was Mrs. Jones, the head of the Special operations division at MI6. Appearing to have finished reading she spoke, "Do you think we should tell them?"

"I see no reason to, it doesn't concern them," Blunt's voice was like being doused in ice water. It gave away no emotion.

"Doesn't concern them," she was shocked, "perhaps not Alex, but Camille?"

"She does not need to know."

"Blunt," Mrs. Jones's face was severe, "She is going to find out one way or another, there is no way we can keep this from her forever."

"Yes we can."

Mrs. Jones could sense the battle was lost, for now at least. Her phone rang within seconds, "Hello," she said, her voice was once more its emotionless mask.

"Yes, we have Camille Laurent and Alex Rider here waiting to see you."

"Send them up," she hung up the phone.

Turning to Blunt she told him, "They will be up here soon."

A nod was all the confirmation she received that he had heard her, for at that moment two fifteen year olds entered the office. The first had blonde hair and a tan; he wore a pair of cut off jean shorts, and a blue football jersey. Alex looked obviously unhappy to be here. A girl with long brown hair curled into ringlets followed. Her black and white polka dot baby doll style top concealed a gun Mrs. Jones knew she very rarely shed, her face as emotionless was as Blunt's.

They both sat themselves down in the two chairs that faced the desk. For almost five minutes there was a silence broken only by the occasional rustle of the papers Blunt was reading. This left Alex's eyes free to wander the sterile office. It was everything he despised, and the man and woman he hated most were standing right in front of him, no doubt about to send him on some crazy mission to the other side of the world.

Finally Mrs. Jones broke the silence, "Alex, I assume you have no idea what is going on."

"No really, I would never have guessed," he didn't even bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, being polite with these people would get him no where.

"You are here because we have recently received a report telling us that in two in a half weeks a group shall gather in Cairo. This group supplies numerous explosives to various terrorist organizations across the globe. You two will be posing as a young couple on holiday at the same resort the group is staying at."

Alex did not look forward to pretending to be dating Camille. How could you pretend to be with someone if the person would barely talk to you? Camille's face on the other hand was completely emotionless, but Alex though he detected a flicker of annoyance in her blue eyes.

Camille was not happy at all. She didn't know Alex, nor did she plan on getting to know him. Was the information she brought back not enough? Why one earth did they have to send her on this blasted mission? What did Alex have to do with all this? What was their problem with this particular organization? Her head was filled with unanswered questions, only strengthened her resolve to get those files by any means necessary.

Mrs. Jones continued, "Your mission is quite straightforward, gather all the information you can, and relay it back to us. There should be no problems and they should not even realize you are there."

Alex had to stifle a laugh at this. Didn't she say something like that before every one of his missions, and didn't it always turn out to be untrue?

"For two weeks you shall train at Camp Perry with the CIA and then you will fly to Cairo and begin. Before you begin your training you will stay at Camille's home in Washington D.C."

This made Alex curious, as little as he knew about Camille, maybe he would be able to get to know her, or at least talk to her a bit more when he was staying at her home.

"When you reach Camille's house you will be provided with information on your identities while in Cairo. They will also provide you with gadgets, luggage, and anything else you may need."

In response to the hopeful look on Alex's face Mrs. Jones said, "No you may not have a gun. Give me the one you have right now."

How did she know about the gun Camille had given him? Reluctantly he handed the GLOCK to Mrs. Jones, who put it in one of Blunt's desk drawers.

Blunt who had been silent throughout the entire meeting finally spoke, "A car will pick you up at 9:00 tomorrow morning."

Taking this as being able to leave Alex and Camille stood up and exited the office. Out in the hall Alex grabbed Camille's arm, "Wait," he pulled the green Ipod out of his pocket, "When you ran into me I think you dropped this."

She took it without a word. Alex continued, "I also found a bag back in Porto Vecchio, I think it's yours."

"I doubt it," Camille's voice was cold and icy. Without another word to Alex she walked toward the bank of elevators, slipping the Ipod into her black Prada bag as she walked.

* * *

Okay here it is. It explains a bit more. I will try to post another chapter as soon as I can; I have the next one written, so now I am just waiting for more reviews!!!! (Insert Evil Laugh Here)

REVIEW people, if you want another chapter quickly!

-Marissa


	10. I Lied

This is to all the amazing people that did review, THANK YOU!!! To all those that didn't review (evil glare).

I just now realized that when I wrote the disclaimer in one of the earlier chapters I didn't say that it counted for all the chapters, so here it is.

Alex Rider and all of the original characters belong to Anthony Horowitz. I'm a girl, so how could my name be Anthony! (This counts for all chapters)

* * *

Alex reached the large bank of elevators just as the one Camille was in had departed. Pressing the down button he leaned against the cool marble covered wall and waited. What the hell was going on? Who was Camille? What did the CIA have to do with this? So many questions flew through his head. 

The elevator was the same as always, but with even more security features then his last visit. He made his way quickly through the marble lobby, and out the large doors, onto the now dark London streets. The slightly cool breeze whipping through the air was a welcome break from the sweltering island of Corsica. It was only now that he realized he would be going home for one night before heading over to America.

Jack would be hysterical when he got home. When he told her he had to leave for another mission tomorrow she would probably faint. His mind wandered to all of the friends he had left behind at Brookland. What was the new rumor about him? Was he a murderer or… his mind stopped there. The problem with that rumor was it wasn't a rumor, it was true. Alex was a murderer; he had killed plenty of people, maybe in self defense, but that didn't change the fact that they were dead.

His feet automatically carried him home; he reached the front door just as it was wrenched open. A Jack clothed in a dressing gown stood in the doorway, wet hair dripping over the floor. She gasped at the sight of him before quickly pulling him into a bone crushing hug. "I haven't seen you in nearly a month!"

"I know, I've been," he hesitated, "busy."

"Well now that your home you can go back to school. You must have so many assignments to catch up with!"

"Jack…"

"What? Not MI6 again?"

Alex decided against telling her now, he would have to tell her later obviously, but he didn't want to spoil her however momentary happiness with bad news, "Nothing. I've missed you too."

"You must be hungry; do you want anything to eat?"

"Sure," he followed Jack to the kitchen, happy to be out of the bone crushing hug.

Jack set about making Alex something to eat while Alex sat down at the table, leaning on his hand. After five minutes of silence Jack finally spoke, "What is going on lately? I haven't seen you for a month. No call, nothing to even hint that you were…"

Alex knew what she was about to say. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. He finally decided to tell her the truth, or part of it anyway, "I've been in Corsica. MI6 sent me on vacation there actually."

Jack was taken aback at this. "Oh, that is nice of them."

"I guess if you can call Blunt and Jones 'nice'"

Jack set a large bowl of vegetable soup on the table in front of Alex. He took a particularly large spoonful and was rewarded with what felt like a blistering throat. Jack took this as an opportunity to question him without interruption, "How was vacation?"

Alex swallowed the scalding mouthful, "Fine."

Jack had a distant look in her eyes, "You need to get some sleep, it's almost midnight."

Without a word Alex pushed the soup away-he hadn't been very hungry in the first place- and climbed the stairs that led to his bedroom. He breathed in the familiar smell and felt all his muscles relax. For one blessed night he would be home, no evil madmen chasing him around, no weird henchmen shooting at him, and no MI6. He fell asleep fully clothed, knowing he had to rise early in the morning.

* * *

Camille sat with her legs crossed and arms folded. She was sitting in the back of a limousine waiting for a fair haired boy to come out of his home. "Finally," she murmured. The boy had just come out of his house. 

Seconds later the door flew open and Alex slid inside. Camille's face was as expressionless as last time he had seen her, but the rest of her looked different. Her eyes were a deep brown; he could only assume she had been wearing color contacts the day before. Her normally curly hair was bone straight and pulled back into a tight ponytail. If he didn't know better he would have thought she was a different person.

The ride to the airport was as uneventful as ever. Camille didn't say one word, and Alex had log ago given up trying to talk to her. When they reached the terminal the driver opened up the door and the two teenagers clambered out.

Alex checked his watch; they had one hour before their flight was to leave in about one hour. He knew they would spend the majority of that time filtering through security. Glancing around he noticed Camille was gone. It was a few moments before he noticed her at the front of the First Class check-in line.

Walking up and standing next to her he watched as she handed the attendant her passport and his, which she had pulled out of his hand. The lady typed something into the computer in front of her. Her heavy brows furrowed and she gave Camille and Alex a once over. After apparently satisfied they were the ones the passports belonged to she handed them their boarding passes.

Camille proceeded over to the security queue and leaned on the rail that corralled the huge mass of people into one line. Alex just then noticed her bag, it wasn't special looking but guessed it held a gun. He leaned over and hissed in her ear, "You can't bring a gun on the plane."

Her lips barely moved, "I'm not. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

Not wanting to answer that question he turned his attention to the ever approaching front of the queue. There was a metal detector alongside x-ray machines for carry on luggage. Beyond the metal detectors there were five uniformed me just waiting for the familiar beeping of the detector.

Camille stepped up, showed her passport and boarding pass to the uniformed man standing in front of the detector. She put her bag on the conveyor belt that would bring it through the x-ray machine.

She walked forward and Alex breathed a sigh of relief that it didn't go off. At least she didn't try to bring a gun on the plane. Alex barely knew her, yet she seemed like the type of person who would break all the rules to get what she wanted.

Following her through after showing the security man his passport and boarding pass he heard the familiar beeping sound that meant he had metal on him. A man walked up to him with a hand held metal detector and started to scan over him. A beep near the zipper on his jacket alerted the guard and Alex was allowed to walk on through.

As the pair walked to the gate Camille stopped Alex in the middle of a crowd of people and handed him a small black bag she had pulled out of her large handbag, without a word.

"What's this?"

She kept looking pointedly away from Alex, "A gun."

"I thought you said you didn't bring any?"

She started to walk toward the gate. When Camille did speak her voice sent a chill down Alex's spine, "I lied."

* * *

The more reviews I get the quicker you'll get a new chapter so REVIEW!!!! 

-Marissa


	11. Basking in the Sun

I know some of you are annoyed with Camille; she would bug anyone out the wazoo really. She's really grown on me though and I hope with time she will grow on you, she has emotions; they are just hid behind a six foot wall of concrete, reinforced with steel.

Monkeywithapen- I was planning to have a part inside Camille's head in this chapter anyway, but because of you it's longer then I was originally planning.

Happy reading!!!

* * *

Fifteen minutes had passed since Camille and Alex had boarded the plane. They sat side by side in the plush leather seats of first class. Camille was staring out the window while Alex kept running his hand intently over the small black bag Camille had handed him. What the hell was she thinking bringing a gun onto a plane? What would happen if someone decided to look in the bag? He didn't want to think about it.

Camille ran her hand through her hair. The sun was streaming through the window and into her eyes. Closing them briefly all she could see was her father's face the day she had snuck into his office.

_ He had explained the basics to her and told her to go to her room and gather her stuff. "Basics" for him were things that would have made most twelve year olds faint, things like, "I'm the head of the CIA", her first thought had been to laugh hysterically, thinking that the entire thing was some sort of joke, in fact she had to fight very hard not to burst out laughing. _

_ To this day she still remembered slamming the door in her sister's face and yelling at her to leave her alone and go away. God! She regretted that so much. The last time she had seen her sister Carmen, had been three years ago. _

_ When she returned from training she had asked her dad what he had said to Carmen about her disappearing he had told her so coldly, "She thinks you're dead," before going back to his paperwork. _

_ The most recent time she had seen Carmen was shortly before she was due to leave on her second mission. Before going to the airport she had stopped at a small café in D.C. for a cup of coffee and Carmen was there. She had been forced to weave a tale of running away after fighting with her father and she told Carmen that her father had just told her that she was dead because that was what he had thought at the time, but she was back at home now, and everything was fine. The back at home part had been slightly true. She did stay at home between assignments, but that was only a tiny portion of her life. Carmen wouldn't know she was home, she hadn't even talked to Camille's father, she was staying with some boyfriend of hers. In the time between Camille had grown less and less fond of her sister, despite never speaking to her after that run in, but the things she heard were not good. Her sister seemed to have swallowed her lie as fact and moved on with her rather stupid life. _

_ Inside she really didn't think Carmen believed it. In fact Camille secretly hoped she knew the truth. If by some miracle she did she sure didn't learn it from Camille's father. Aside from the fact that they hadn't spoken since Carmen left, Joseph Laurent and Carmen had never gotten along very well. Carmen was Camille's mother's daughter from a previous relationship and Camille remembered quite clearly the instances of fighting that had occurred between Carmen and her father. Camille had retreated to her bedroom during those times, allowing her father and sister to argue it out. They hadn't gotten along before her mother had died but afterward there was a shouting match at least once a day. _

_ When she had first left for Camp Peary, or "The Farm" as her father had called it she had been almost glad to be rid of her sister and father. Unfortunately that feeling lasted only until she met the sergeant that was to be her instructor during her stay there. He was a huge man and his partner in screaming at her was the biggest most muscular woman she had ever seen. _

_ They had been there to greet her when she had gotten out of the government car that had taken her there. Almost immediately they had yelled at her. She had no idea of military protocol. That was a completely foreign language to her. Camille couldn't shoot a gun to save her life when she had first arrived. These were the things they were quick to pick up on. The two sergeants were quick to over look where she did manage to excel. _

_ Almost immediately after arriving she had been told to dump her bags in the woman's dormitory and come over to the obstacle course for evaluation. That was probably the worst hour of her horribly miserable time there. Countless time she had fallen into the mud below the course. Her almost brand new trainers were brown even after she had soaked them in hopes to get some of the caked on mud off. After trudging back to the dorms she had climbed into bed after taking a very cold shower, only to be awoken at four o'clock the next morning for their morning run, an experience she would have gladly forgone. _

_ Throughout the next day she had been constantly yelled at by her various instructors. Her group was nice to her; although very inquisitive as to why she was there they had been helpful and kind the majority of the time. The only instructor who had been in any way kind was her unarmed combat teacher. _

_ The woman appeared to be in her late forties to early fifties, only about five feet tall, with graying hair. After her first day there the lady had held her back. _

_ "I know this must be hard for you, but don't worry it will get better." _

_ Camille had stayed silent and the woman decided to try a different tact, "I have heard quite a bit about you, your father speaks of you often." _

_ "Oh, does he?" she didn't care what the answer was. The lady was just trying to cheer her up, and was failing dismally. _

_ "Yes he does actually. You being here was somewhat inevitable, the amount of people your father had running around trying to keep you from finding out what he did was getting quite ridiculous!" _

_ "So he had an entire team of people keeping me from finding out the truth?" she said through gritted teeth. _

_ The lady stayed silent, "How do you know my dad anyway?" _

_ Seeming happy to be moving away from an uncomfortable subject her face brightened, "Oh, we met years ago while we were both on an assignment. That was when he met your mother actually." _

_ Camille had no wish to discuss her mother, "I have to go." _

_ "Ok, I'll see you next time," the woman looked slightly surprised at Camille's sudden parting. _

_ The rest of her training was just as bad as the first week, although she had managed to improve her course times by a huge margin. At the end of the murderous three months she had been so different. Coming in barely knowing how to hold a gun, she could now shoot with pinpoint accuracy. Even the two giant sergeants were impressed with her improvement. _

_ The day she had returned home she had been so happy to be home yet there was something inside her that knew she would never be able to go back to the way her life was before. Too much had changed. _

Now as she sat waiting to take off in the plane that would carry her back to that retched place known as "The Farm" she wished that she was back in Porto Vecchio basking in the warm glow of the sun.

* * *

So there it is! It might have a few mistakes, but I was finishing it off late last night and I wanted to get it up before I went to bed to I kind of rushed through it. I'll be going back and fixing some of the mistakes soon, I promise. 


	12. Extra Words

Yeah- I kind of know this isn't what you wanted. I have about half of the next chapter done but I have major writers block, and you guys aren't reviewing which makes it all a LOT worse. I am so sick of people saying they hate Camille! The first few people to tell me that were one thing, I can understand that you hate her, truthfully if I were you I'd hate her too! She isn't exactly the most likeable character! There are some people who just tell me that they don't like her, not why they don't like her, I can't fix something if I don't know what the problem is! She will open up a bit and in the mean time I'm creating a few LIKEABLE characters that you can RELATE to. This involves an overhaul of the entire story, so don't expect the next chapter to be up soon, or for it to be very long. Although reviews considerably speed up the process and I will give you all an extra 500 words for every review I get. In other words if I get one review I'll be cutting the chapter down to around 1000 words (Its at about 500 right now) and if I get three reviews you'll get a nice happy 2000 word (at least) chapter. In other words start reviewing.

-Marissa

I got the idea of the extra words in the chapter from some other author on here, I would give him/her, credit but I can't remember who it was and I don't feel like digging through piles of fan fiction to find out (especially when most of it contains a PERFECT Mary Sue). So thank you who ever you are, if I remember correctly I really liked your story/stories.


	13. Suicide Wishes

Alex sat impatiently in one of the leather first class seats. Camille was staring intently out the window, at what he didn't know, much less care. She really irked him; she was so emotionless and cold, almost as bad as Blunt. No, now that he thought about it, she was worse then Blunt; he didn't have to see Blunt every day for God only knows how long.

A young flight attendant with long red blonde hair was holding a seat belt in the middle of the aisle demonstrating how to fasten it and pointing the to emergency exits. The chance of the plane crashing was almost laughable. Alex wondered if they had a plan for a teen girl with a gun; that was much more likely.

With a smile he motioned to the flight attendant. She came over with one of those big fake smiles that clearly said 'I don't want to be here'.

"What do you need sir?" her tone was sugary sweet, but it sounded so fake.

"Could I have a coke please?"

"Sure," she walked away, her black pumps clicking together.

Alex reclined his seat put his headphones into his ears. A short glance to his left confirmed that Camille was still looking out the window. He closed his eyes with no intention to go to sleep, but inadvertently drifted into a semiconscious state.

"Sir, I have your drink," the honeyed tone awoke Alex, he wanted to roll back over and sleep but instead he sat up and took the drink from the woman's hand without a word.

He took a small sip and set in down on the wooden tray next to his seat. He had

no idea how he was going to kill the time on the long flight from London to Washington D.C. Camille would be no help whatsoever; she was obviously not going to utter so much as one word to him. Finally just deciding to get up and walk around a bit, he stretched his arms and stood up. He could feel the plush carpet beneath his shoes, and he swayed ever so slightly due to the turbulence.

He glanced at Camille and he suddenly dreaded this mission more then ever. He didn't want to go to Cairo, much less with someone who would be only too happy to shoot him point blank in the head. All of the memories of his previous missions came flooding back into his head. So many people had tried to kill him, and how many of them had he killed? Alex didn't even want to think about it.

As he paced the aisles he threw another furtive glance at Camille. She seemed so calm, how could she be? They were about to go on a mission with no guarantee of coming back. Before that of course they would have to go thought training with the CIA. Why on earth MI6 thought he needed training was beyond him, hadn't the torture he had been put through with the SAS been enough?

A clear sharp voice came on over the intercom system, "Please take your seats and buckle your seat belts. We will be experiencing some turbulence."

Alex took his seat slowly; Camille hadn't even looked away from the window for a moment. He buckled his belt and leaned back in his seat.

* * *

The plane ride was just as Alex expected it to be, long and monotonous, but they did manage to get in half an hour earlier then expected. He didn't think Camille had looked away from the window the entire plane ride, much less spoken one word. Alex wondered what could keep her so transfixed on one location for so long. She must have been thinking about something very important, he guessed, but he really had no idea, and truthfully he didn't care. After this mission he would never have to see her again, thank god!

As they stood up to disembark from the plane Camille tapped Alex on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, "You forgot the bag."

Alex looked down and saw that he had in fact forgotten the little bag holding the gun Camille had given to him at the beginning of the flight. He could only imagine the sensation that would cause if some poor flight attendant had been unfortunate enough to open it.

They walked quickly thought the gateway that led from the plane into the waiting area. Suddenly, as though struck by lightning, Camille halted. Her body tensed before she turned around and rushed back onto the plane, Alex hesitated for a moment before following.

Back on the plane he could see her rummaging quickly through the overhead bin above the row of seats behind theirs. Apparently she found what she was looking for because she appeared to be opening a black duffel. Without even bothering to close it she turned toward the door of the plane and ran out. Not knowing what was so urgent; Alex turned and followed at a slight jog.

Camille was waiting extremely impatiently at the gateway. She roughly grabbed Alex's arm and literally pulled him toward the exit. While she quickly pulled he bumped against her and he could feel her gun strapped to her hip.

Leaning over toward his ear she hissed, "Run, now, and don't look back."

There was something in her voice that said, do it or I will kill you myself, and Alex had no death wish. Turning to the nearest exit Alex ran, but Camille grabbed his arm and steered him toward a much farther one, at the other end of the terminal.

Together they sprinted full out. Many heads turned to watch them, but no one stopped them. As the exit loomed closer and closer there was a sickening "boom" in the background. Camille grabbed Alex's shirt and yanked him forcefully to the ground.

Throwing a glance backward Alex saw a huge orange fireball, growing closer by the second. Before he had time to turn his head back around Camille had pulled him to his feet and was sprinting, full out, toward an emergency exit.

Outside the cool air hit Alex like a wall. Looking down he saw he had numerous cuts from splinters of metal of glass that had gone flying through the air after the explosion. Tomorrow morning he would surely have a bruise on his right knee where it had hit the floor, but right then and there he didn't care. He was just happy to have gotten out of there in time.

"Come on, we have to go now!" Camille yelled, not bothering to keep her voice down.

Alex turned and ran after her. They ran across the tarmac and through an open field on the other side. In the background Alex could hear sirens and just prayed that they weren't coming after them. Camille seemed to have noticed this and had drawn her gun from the holster on her hip.

"Take your gun out you idiot!"

"I," Alex hesitated, not sure what she would do to him, "I left it in the airport."

This was obviously not the kind of stupidity she was expecting for it caused her to halt completely and look at him. "You are a complete idiot, what do you think will happen if anyone finds that?"

Alex didn't answer, for suddenly the roar of a police siren came roaring closer and closer. "Come on!" Camille screeched!

He didn't need any persuading. His last encounter with the cops had ended with him on another mission risking his life for MI6. After sprinting for another fifteen minutes, jumping over countless fences, and climbing a tree or two, Camille seemed to be satisfied.

Slowing to a walk she turned around and began to shove her way through what seemed like a solid wall of brambles, thorns, and vines. On the other side Alex saw that she had ripped her jacket and scratched up her face, but he couldn't imagine he looked much better. The thorns had torn at every inch of bare skin and clothing. More then once he had been forced to pause and tediously free his foot or ankle from the grasp of a vine.

The sight in front of him left him shell shocked. Camille's SLR McLaren Mercedes stood right in front of them. "How the HELL did this end up here?"

"I had it put here so we could get to it after we had left the airport," her voice was one of measured calm.

"You mean you PLANNED that retched hike through thorn bushes and over fences?"

"No, if it wasn't for the bomb it would have only take us about 10 minutes to get here, but because of it we had to go the long way." her icy calm voice only served to annoy Alex.

"Can you please tell me what the hell is going on? Someone just blew up the plane we were on!"

"Yeah, and if it wasn't for the fact we got here thirty minutes early we would have blown up with it," she betrayed a slight hint of annoyance.

"Ok, I get that, but WHO blew it up?"

Camille opened her car door and while her gaze was away from Alex said, "The assassin behind you."

Alex climbed into the car on the other side and slammed the door with much more force then was necessary.

* * *

Twenty minutes into the car ride Alex spoke again, "But how did you know there was a bomb?"

"I've run into that guy before," she sounded angrier then he had ever heard her.

"Answer the question, how did you know that there was a bomb?"

"Lucky guess," Alex knew there was more to it then that, but he was hesitant to push the subject.

As they rounded the next bend in the road a huge white marble mansion came into view. In his fifteen years of life he had seen some magnificent houses but this had to top all of them. In the front there was a 50 feet wide by 1000 feet two story covered walkway lined with giant white marble columns that led to the equally imposing front doors.

Pulling around the circular driveway Camille stopped the car, stepped out, and headed toward the door. Alex followed her lead, throwing a glance over at the large fountain sitting in the middle of the circle of bright green grass surrounded by the circle of pavement.

Alex ran across the marble paved walkway to the front door. Alex stood back and watched as Camille slid back a pane of glass to reveal a keypad. Punching in the code she stood back as the doors creaked open.

If Alex thought the outside of the house was grand he should have waited to see the inside. The foyer he had just stepped into seemed to belong in a different universe then the airport that had just exploded. A crystal and gold chandelier hung down from the high ceiling, casting a shimmering glow over the entire room. The marble floor was inlaid with a beautiful black tile pattern that contrasted with the white. Directly in front of him were three steps that led up to a plushy carpeted great room.

An especially loud tap on the marble floor drew Alex's gave to Camille. He blurted out, without thinking, "You live, here!"

"Yep."

Camille led him up a grand flight of stairs on the left side of the foyer. She halted and pointed to a door a few feet away, "That will be your room," she turned and pointer to a set of doors on the far side of the circular balcony overlooking the room below, "That is my room, stay out or I will hurt you." her voice was deathly serious and Alex doubted it was an empty threat.

As she walked over to the double doors, hand on the mahogany rail, she turned back to face him, "Tomorrow we are going shopping for clothes for the mission, I doubt you have any that will work, and you didn't even bring any."

"Who's paying for it?"

Without even turning back around Camille said nonchalantly, "MI6."

Alex's mood lifted slightly, he could buy thousands of pounds worth of stuff, and MI6 would have to foot the bill.

He turned around to watch Camille. From what he could tell from this distance her room was secured with a keypad and a retina scanner, so even if Alex had had some sort of suicidal desire to go in there, he wouldn't have been able to.

There you have it, all 2095 words of it. I got three reviews, each worth 500 words apiece, plus the original 500 words. I think I'm going to do this from now on, so get submitting reviews!

* * *

Please answer the following with nice LONG, DETAILED answers:

1) Some people love romance others hate it. Are you up for Alex having a love interest? (Remember I said love interest, not Camille) This would not be a major part of the plot, just a subplot to add interest. Remember I am not talking about the cheesy, mushy gushy, true love at 14 or 15 that some authors write!

2) Any other little things you would like me to include little plot details that would make the story that much better for you!

3) Are there any other little things you would have me fix in this story?

4) can you beta read for me? I had a beta reader but she seems to have abandoned me so I am once again on a quest for one.

Please note that some people may complain about how rich Camille seems to be, that it's unrealistic. This is a MAJOR plot point, no matter what you say I cannot change this without an overhaul of the plot, story, and characters.

-Marissa

Also read and REVIEW my other story, Shoot First Ask Questions later!


	14. Blueberry Muffins

Alex awoke with a start. His hand instinctively clenched into a fist under the warm silk bedding. He unclenched his fist and looked around. The previous night the room had been dark and he had not gotten a good look at it, but now…. the only word that came to mind was, Wow!

If the foyer had been grand that was nothing compared to the room he was in now. To his left there was a wall of windows, through which sunlight streamed through, held at bay only slightly by red satin drapes. Sitting up slowly he took in the view in front of him, the walls of the bedroom were coated in a gold colored Venetian Plaster and the molding was cream. The dark wood dresser gleamed in the sunlight and the mirror beside it shined.

Clambering out of bed he realized he didn't have any clothes to change into, in fact, he had fallen asleep the night before in his clothes. The dirty clothes stuck to him with sweat and he wished he could take a shower right then.

Throwing a short glance at the clock on the table beside the large bed he saw that it was already 10:00 A.M., no wonder he was starving. He knew he should go and talk to Camille-hadn't she said something about shopping- but surely she couldn't be too mad if he got something to eat first. As he thought about it he realized he didn't even know where the kitchen was. 'Oh well' he thought, how long could it take him to find it.

He walked out of his room and toward the grand staircase. His foot was already on the first step when something caught his eye. In the dark last night he had missed it, but next to the door to his room was a pair or doors, almost identical to the ones that led to Camille's room- minus the retina scanner and keypad. As he looked on a petite woman with tanned skin stepped out. She had long dark hair and wore a pale pink linen skirt with a crisp white blouse. From this distance she looked to be about nineteen.

Alex gaped at her; he had not expected anyone else to be staying in the house. As she approached him he blurted out, "Who are you?"

A pink tint appeared in the girl's cheeks, "Ercilia Manriquez, but everyone calls me Cilia," she said this all while managing to reveal an astoundingly white smile.

"Um, not to be rude, but why are you here? I thought this is Camille's house."

"Oh, it is. I'm just staying here for a bit, I'm working on a project for Mr. Laurent, so I'll be staying here for a bit."

Alex simply stared at the girls blindingly white smile. Finally coming out of his trance, "Oh, I'm Alex by the way, and who the hell is Mr. Laurent."

Cilia looked puzzled, "Camille's father, but surely you knew that."

It was just now that Alex noticed a slight trace of a Spanish accent in her voice, her English was perfect, however, and she did a very good job masking it.

Alex felt his cheeks growing hot, how could he have been so ignorant as to never ask Camille's surname. "Actually, I didn't know that," he responded rather sheepishly.

"Oh."

Attempting to break the awkward silence that had now settled over the pair Alex spoke, "So, what sort of project is this?"

"Biochemistry."

Alex wrinkled his forehead at this, "Aren't you a bit young to be a chemist?"

Cilia gave a genuine laugh, "Most people would think so," as an afterthought she added, "I'm hungry, do you want to go down to the kitchen to grab something to eat?"

"Sure," they headed down the stairs, "What sort of biochemistry project is this?"

Cilia's expression grew thoughtful, "I don't think I'm supposed to tell you that Alex."

"Would you at least tell me why on earth you are working on a project for Camille's father?" Alex was growing annoyed at the severe lack of information he was being given.

She sighed, "If Camille hasn't already told you then I doubt she would want me to be the one to tell you."

"Fine," Alex muttered through gritted teeth.

Gently, Cilia began, "Now it is my turn to ask some questions of you, why are you here?"

In a mocking tone of voice Alex said loudly, "I don't think I can tell you that!"

Cilia looked genuinely hurt, and Alex felt the monster called guilt rise inside of him.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I just want to know what the hell is going on," he muttered softly.

"It's okay, I guess, just watch what you say around Camille, she's a bit," Cilia paused, as if searching for the right word, "touchy."

"Oh really, I hadn't noticed," his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Where the hell is she by the way?"

"She is probably at the pool, she is there every morning it seems, and could you please watch your language?"

Alex shrugged off the quip about his language, "There's a pool here?"

"Yes, there is. I'll show you how to get there after we have breakfast."

Muttering an okay he followed Cilia down toward the Kitchen. Passing through the foyer, a huge ornate formal dinning room with a set of huge glass doors that led out onto a beautiful wooden deck, past a cozy looking reading room, to the kitchen. In Camille's house Alex never ceased to be amazed, and the kitchen was no exception. The cabinets were some sort of dark wood that Alex was almost certain was now extinct topped with grey granite counters. He felt as though he was inside one of those home magazines he has seen at the airport waiting for their flight.

A tall, slender woman with silver hair stood with a bowl in her hand, mixing- what looked like muffing batter-vigorously. She obviously heard their feet slapping on the marble floors that seemed to cover the entire house, because she looked up and smiled.

"Oh, hi dear. I was just finishing up a batch of blueberry muffins. I have another batch in the oven. They should be done soon. Unless, of course, you want something else, because I'd be happy to make it," she said this all quite fast and eagerly, with a huge smile on her face.

Alex got the feeling that she didn't have company in the giant manor often, and was overjoyed with having some company. Even when Camille was home, which Alex suspected was not very often, she couldn't provide very good company.

"Blueberry muffins sound great," just then did he notice how hungry he was.

He sat down in one of the chairs that were pushed right up to the counter. Turning toward Cilia, who had sat down beside him, "So, where are you from. I mean, I couldn't help but notice you have a slight accent, Spanish right?"

A deep red flush appeared in her tan cheeks. She was obviously not fond of being reminded of her accent. "Yes," she spoke with a sigh, "It's Spanish."

The silver haired lady just then set a plate with two muffins in front of both of them. After taking what Alex considered to be a very small bite Cilia let out another sigh and continued, "My mother and father, they lived in a small village in Colombia, but when I was five, they sent me to live with my Aunt and Uncle in Bogotá. From there I was shipped north to St. Louis, Missouri, where I met Mr. Laurent. This was years ago though. I met him when I was, I guess fifteen. I am currently studying for my degree in Biochemistry, and in the mean time, I work on various projects for Mr. Laurent."

"Oh," was all Alex could come up with. To compensate for the lack of conversation he decided to take an overly large bite of muffin and choke on it. Coughing and spluttering he decided that maybe it would be best to just go see Camille.

"Cilia, you said you'd show me where the pool is. I think I ought to find Camille before she gets mad at me for some outlandish reason."

"Okay," she sounded very hesitant, "are you sure you are okay though?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Come on then," she had risen from her chair and was making her was toward a large door located on the right wall of a sitting room adjacent to the kitchen.

* * *

Here it is; the long awaited chapter. I have been having writer's block so I apologize for the delay. I also apologize for any spelling and grammar errors ahead of time. I know the chapters are really boring, I swear there will be more action and excitement soon. This was a very important chapter though, Cilia is not just a filler character, she will be in later parts of the story. If you read between the lines you can learn something very interesting about this story. If you have any guesses as to the plot, feel free to PM me. But I ask, please do not post it in a review that would spoil it for other people.

Marissa xoxo


	15. Beautiful Views

FIANALLY!!!!!!! This chapter took forever!

* * *

The tightly wound spiral staircase was making him dizzy. Alex held on to the intricately carved railing in order to keep his balance. Reaching the bottom Alex walked smack into Cilia. "Ow!"

She turned around, "Shhhh! Can you be quiet for more then five seconds?"

"Sorry," he murmured.

As soon as she started walking again Alex realized that he was in a maze of beautiful hallways covered in artwork that belonged in a museum. He followed Cilia's slim pink and cream clad figure down the hallway toward a set of magnificent double doors. Inside he was met with the smell of chlorine. All of the indoor pools Alex had been to, when you walked in you were met with a gush of hot, sticky air, but this one was different. Soft, cool air met him; it smelled of chlorine and some sort of sweet flowery smell.

Camille was sitting at one end of the pool leaning up against the wall. Her head was back in the water, her brown curls around her head like a little halo. Her black bikini barely covered her and it looked as though at any moment it might fall off.

She let out an audible sigh and pulled herself out of the pool, "What, Alex?"

"You said something about shopping yesterday," his voice had a new strength; her condescending tone was REALLY starting to irk him.

Camille picked up a soft fluffy white towel and began to dry off, "Well, we can't really be a wealthy couple if you look like a fifteen year old English boy, now can we."

"What ever, what time are we leaving," Alex was eager to get out of the same room as her.

"I obviously must change, so meet me at the car in thirty minutes," she walked past where Alex and Cilia, who had been silent, were standing.

Alex almost let out a gasp but managed to stifle it at the last second. Camille's well toned body was coated in scars and she had an outline of a black rose tattooed on her lower left hip. He could have sworn Camille had heard his stifled gasp for as she opened a dark wooden door next to the double doors he and Cilia entered through she shot him a deadly glare.

After she was out of earshot Cilia whispered to Alex softly, "Come on, we ought to go now."

"What happened to Camille?" the question was out of his mouth before he had even had a chance to think about it.

Cilia appeared puzzled, "What do you mean?"

"All of the scars…"

"I don't know Alex," she took a breath and continued, "When I first came here I was shocked too, but in all of the time I've been here I still can't figure it out."

"Oh," was all he could say. 'No one, no matter how rude and annoying should have had to go through whatever pain caused those scars.

Alex had thirty minutes to kill and he figure that he might as well look around. He walked down the concrete pool deck toward the huge set of windows at the other end. Looking up he saw that far end of the pool had a roof of glass; sun light streamed through and sparkled off the water. There was a set of stairs on either side of the end of the pool, Alex took the left one. At the bottom he was floored by the view he had. Looking out the arching window in front of him he could see a magnificent sloping green lawn that leveled off at a concrete retaining wall. There were bright, colorful flowers all around, bordering the wall and the steps that led down to two tennis courts beyond which was a forest.

As Alex wove his way through the maze of white suede lounge chairs, couches, and pale wooden tables, he could feel Cilia standing right behind him. When he stopped to look out Cilia approached him, "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he paused; weighing what he was about to say carefully, "I can't imagine how someone who grew up here could be that…"

"Bitter," Cilia offered.

The look on Alex's face made her continue, "I wondered that when I first came here. I finally realized that that girl was never going to tell anyone what happened, or why she is the way she is. After a while you sort of have to bow to the inevitable recognize it as one of the mysteries of life."

"Isn't Camille's father your employer?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I have to like his daughter, especially not when she is such a…"

"Bitch," Alex's tone rang with annoyance.

Cilia giggled, "Yeah."

Alex jerked his head away from the view with the realization that Camille would shoot him if her was late, and he didn't even know where the 'car' was.

He turned to Cilia, "Where's the 'car' as Camille said?"

"Go up the stairs that we came down, there should be a door to your right, if you exit that way you should be in the garage. I can only assume that is where Camille meant."

"Aren't you coming back up?"

"No, I have work to do, and the lab is down here."

All that came out of his mouth was a brief, "Oh," before he rushed back out the French doors, down the hallway, up the stairs, out another door, and finally into the garage.

He saw Camille leaning against her silver Mercedes at the other end of the garage. He had to weave his way around two armored BMWs and a large range rover to get there.

"Are these all yours?" he gestured toward the cars in the garage.

Camille looked as nonchalant as ever, "No, just this one, and that one," she pointed to a Mitsubishi Eclipse on the other side of her Mercedes that Alex would bet had a nitrous system. Camille looked amazingly put together for having only thirty minutes. Her hair was straight and she wore a red open backed jersey dress and red stiletto heels she clutched a large Prada bag that Alex knew held a gun.

"Come on!" she had slid into the drivers seat and Alex slid in the other side.

* * *

I promise the next chapter will be longer, I was going to combine the two but I didn't have time to finish the other part and I thought you guys had waited long enough so I'm posting this!

-Marissa


	16. Pity

I want to apologize for the huge delay in getting this chapter up. My step mother just had twin girls, Victoria and Cara. I've been a bit busy needless to say…

* * *

The drive to the mall took twenty minutes. The entire time Camille was silent; her eyes were lazily fixed on the road ahead of her, every so often throwing a glance over her shoulder. In the parking lot Alex caught a sign that read, Saks Fifth Avenue. The entranceway was luxuriously decorated in white marble; it reminded him irresistibly of Camille's foyer. 

Alex was about to get out when Camille turned to him and handed him a credit card and fake ID. His new name was apparently Brendan Votez, and he was 20 years old. "When we are in Cairo we will be posing as a wealthy couple on vacation," her voice was riddled with contempt at the word couple. "You need to find clothing that a twenty year old would wear."

"Okay," Alex had no idea what he would find, but he knew that it was on MI6's tab, so there would be NO hesitation in spending money.

Camille stepped out of the car, with Alex on her heels. Inside he saw an array of expensive designer label clothing that made him blink. She walked straight up to an elderly woman, "I ordered a few things last time I was here and I would like to pick them up."

"Right this way Miss…" she broke off.

"Marseille," Alex noted that she used the same name as when he had first met her in Porto Vecchio.

The elderly saleswoman led Camille and Alex to a well lit marble dressing room. The doors were a deep mahogany and there was a large mirror in front of a small platform. The smooth beige walls were lined with black velvet upholstered chairs. Alex looked on as the grey haired woman brought forth package after package of tissue wrapped clothing, shoes, handbags, and other accessories.

"That is your room Sir," she gestured toward the one to the left of the large mirror, "and that is yours Miss Marseille," she gestured toward the one to the right. "You will find one outfit already waiting for you."

"Thank you," Alex murmured. Camille retained her usual silence.

In the room Alex found a black tailored Versace suit with a silk tie. Oddly enough, it fit him flawlessly. He slipped on the Dolce and Gabbana shoes, and stepped out. Camille gave him a once over and gave a tiny, almost unnoticeable nod to show her approval. The black halter Carmen Mark Valvo gown she wore was beautiful, 'If only it wasn't her wearing it' Alex thought.

The next two hours went on like this, Alex thought he would never finish. The beautiful clothes slurred into one, and he could barely remember what he had just taken off. "That is all," the lady sounded relieved. Alex could imagine that she was just as tired of them trying on clothes as they were.

"Here," Camille handed the woman her credit card.

"Thank you Miss. I shall be back in one moment and the clothes ought to be packaged up in a few minutes."

Camille said nothing.

In fifteen minutes they made their way out of the store, their arms laden down with packages of expensive clothes. They piled the stuff in Camille's trunk and climbed into the Mercedes.

"We have to stop one more place before we go back to my house," Camille informed Alex.

"Ok, whatever," Alex really didn't care.

They drove for less than five minutes before Camille pulled up in front of a Tiffany Co. store. The pair climbed out of the car and walked up to the doors. A man greeted them on the other side of the double doors. "Do you two have an appointment?" Alex could tell that the man assumed they were searching for a ring.

Alex was about to say no, when Camille spoke up, "Yes, we do. We are here to pick up some jewelry, it is under Marseille."

The man walked behind a counter and punched something into the computer. He looked slightly startled, but quickly recovered, "Right this way Miss Marseille," the young red haired man gestured toward a small room to the right of him.

Camille walked promptly in, Alex followed. "Make it quick," Camille told the man. Once again he looked slightly taken aback, but recovered soon enough.

"Yes Miss."

Ten minutes later two men brought a large wooden box into the small room. They set it on the stainless steel table in front of where Alex and Camille sat in plush satin chairs. As the box opened what ever was inside caught the light and sparkled brilliantly. As the lid was set down Alex peered over the edge to see what was inside.

There were what seemed like millions of dollars worth of diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and other gemstones. He had to remind himself that it all was probably worth millions of dollars. The price made him think. Why would MI6 spend this kind of money on jewels? What was so important about this mission that made it so they had to look so convincing? The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. What was going on? He barely knew who Camille was.

Once again Camille handed her credit card over. The man was back in less than a minute. "Would you like some help with this out to your car Miss?"

"No," her voice was blunt and sharp.

For the third time the red haired man looked shocked, "Whatever you wish."

"Brendan, carry it," it wasn't a request, it was a command, Alex knew that.

"Ok," he had to at least attempt to keep the reluctance out of his voice.

He struggled with the heavy, cumbersome chest on the way to the car. "Where do you want me to put it?" he asked through gritted teeth, "There isn't any more room in the trunk."

"Oh, you can hold it on your lap," he couldn't help but notice the smirk on Camille's normally expressionless face. She was enjoying his pain, but he COULD NOT give her the satisfaction of letting her hear him complain. Not looking forward to the numb legs or the bruises that would probably result he climbed in the car and set the chest on his lap.

On the way home he finally caved to the urge to look inside the chest. Ripping off the lid he pulled out a silver bracelet with a letter C charm on it. "Why is there something with a C on it? I thought Helen Marseille was your cover?"

She said simply, "It is."

"Then why on earth is there something with a C on it?" the chest was starting to constrict blood flow to his lower legs and feet.

"Because it's mine, it was a present from my father when I was seven. Did you really think that MI6 would pay over 6 million dollars for jewelry that we would use only once?"

"No, not at all."

The look on her face told him that she knew he was lying but she didn't call him on it. "But what about these things?" he was holding up three sets of cuff links and a men's watch.

"Those were provided by MI6."

The rest of the ride they were silent. Alex never let pain show on his face, but the chest was cutting off his circulation and his legs were completely numb. When they pulled up to Camille's house he acted nonchalantly, as though holding the chest did not faze him, but he was relieved when a man came, opened the door, and lifted the chest off of his lap. He could feel the blood rushing back into his legs. When he stepped out of the car he was wobbling, it is not easy to walk when your legs are numb.

Inside he found Camille standing in the foyer. Cilia was walking slowly toward her, a small silver and gold wrapped parcel in her right hand.

"Camille, this arrived for you while you were gone."

Camille took the parcel without a word. She ripped the paper open and pulled off the lid of the enclosed box. A small note fell out. Alex reached down to pick it up and hand it to Camille, but thought better of it. Instead he pocketed the note, with the intention to read it later.

In Camille's hand was a beautiful watch. The white gold band was paved with small diamond and the face was also inlaid with diamonds. Alex walked up the stairs as Camille slid the watch onto her wrist.

Safely in his room Alex read the note.

Camille,

I found this is Switzerland. It is a Vacheron Constantin watch.

Joseph Laurent

The type of watch or the place of origin he skipped over, what really struck him was the lack of emotion in the note. It was short and to the point. Most fathers wouldn't have signed their name; they would have said something like, "Love Father or Dad." He must have cared enough to buy her the watch, but obviously not enough to show and care for her. Did she even see him? Suddenly he was swept with a pang of pity for Camille. He knew what it was like to have no parents, but having a parent that doesn't care for you, and is never home, that couldn't be overly enjoyable either.

* * *

I would really like to thank all of my loyal reviewers, and apologize once again for the long delay. I would also like to say to Amanda that I am sorry I have not finished editing her story, I should have that for you either later tonight or tomorrow, I promise! I hope to get the next chapter out quickly, but you never know. My other story Depth of Betrayal ought to have a new chapter within two days. If there isn't one, feel free to pelt me with nasty emails. Really, I could use some prodding. Obviously if the emails have suggestions for either story the story would be more likely updated more quickly, but criticism is just as welcome!

-Marissa


	17. Blackout

Wow! Two chapters this quickly, that is a major achievement for me. Enjoy! This is going to be a long chapter and a lot of important things will be happening.

* * *

Alex was laying on his beautiful bed, sunlight pouring over him. He was bored out of his mind. After arriving back at Camille's he realized that he had to stay in this retched place another day. At least he could leave tomorrow, that was the only optimistic thought in his head. 

"Ugh!" he sighed as he sat up. Maybe he would go find Cilia or something, but he was positive that he could not endure the pointless waiting any longer. He made his way out his room, down the stairs, and into the large great room behind the foyer. Cilia was in there, but there were two other people with her.

Cilia looked up from the book on her lap, "Oh, hello Alex. This is Jamal," she pointed at a young woman wearing the traditional headscarf of a Muslim woman, "and this is Chen."

"It is very nice to meet you Alex," Jamal said. She had an accent that had surely come from the Middle East. Chen said nothing. He had not even looked up from his book when Alex had walked in. Just as he was thinking that it was rude to ignore him he noticed that the young man had earphones in.

Jamal leaned over gracefully and tapped him on the shoulder. Wildly he looked around, searching for the person who poked him. Finally his gaze came to rest on Alex. It seemed to have dawned on him to take out the earphones. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name?"

"Alex."

"So you're Mr. Laurent's new crony," his voice was full of contempt.

Alex crinkled his brow, "No, I'm here…" he struggled to find a reason to excuse his presence here, "here visiting Camille."

"Camille," Chen scoffed, "you're here visiting Camille?"

"Yeah," Alex immediately regretted saying he was visiting Camille.

Jamal gave Chen a look that quite clearly said for him to be quiet, but Chen did not head her warning, "It only figures that Camille is the way she is. It must be genetic or something, with that father she's got!"

"Chen," Jamal rested her hand soothingly on his arm, "Mr. Laurent is a nice man. It was very kind of him to allow us to stay in his home while we are working for him."

"He ought to, given that it's more of a mansion than a house. The guy is a bastard though." Jamal went to talk but Chen cut her off, "You didn't say anything about Camille though. What about her?"

"Camille is…" Jamal was definitely not the type of person that voiced her opinion for all to her, "troubled."

"Troubled! You call_that_ troubled? Camille belongs in an asylum; she is more than troubled!"

"Be nice," Jamal's voice was barely above a whisper.

Alex was eager to change the topic away from Camille, "Why are you here, Chen and Jamal?"

"I'm a translator," it was Chen who spoke first, "I speak 19 languages, specializing in Asian dialects. I do a bit of work for Mr. Laurent."

"Currently I am working on a complete report on five Middle Eastern countries for Mr. Laurent," once again, Jamal's voice was barely audible.

Chen continued as though Jamal had never spoken, "Have you ever met Mr. Laurent, Alex?"

"No…" he wasn't sure where this was going.

"You are damn lucky! That man is a piece of work. He gave one woman who was here up until about a month ago, the boot for no reason. Well, Cilia here," he pointed at Cilia, "says he fired her, but I think he killed her!"

"Why on earth do you think that?"

Cilia finally spoke up, "Alex, you really don't want to hear Chen's crazy theory."

"Actually," he glanced at Cilia, "I do."

Chen glanced around, leaned closer to Alex, and said in a hushed tone, "The documents he has me translating, they are starting to scare me. They keep talking about weapons shipments, and poison, and stuff like that."

"Oh," was all Alex could think of to say. Maybe Chen was overreacting, but there was a chance that he wasn't. Jamal's description of him as a "nice man" didn't really fit with the kind of father he would expect Camille to have.

The more he heard from these people, the more he wanted to get away from him, "Cilia, do you know where Camille is?"

"I have no idea," she had gone back to reading her book, "You might want to check the pool though."

"Ok, thanks," Alex began walking toward the stairs, quite happy to be away from Jamal and especially Chen.

Camille was not in the pool. He looked in the halls, and in both bathrooms, but he could not find her anywhere. Finally he found a large wooden door, just like the others, to the left of the spiral staircase. He stepped silently into the darkness. Feeling his way around he realized the walls were concrete and he was standing on a staircase. He descended what must have been at least two floors, if not three. As he neared the bottom he could see a well lit room to his left.

Stepping into it, he was gripped with the instinct to duck behind a chair. Behind the large plush armchair he was facing the steps and concrete walls. He was sitting on a hard concrete floor. Looking to his left he could see what looked almost like a miniature kitchen, to his right there was a television and a very comfy looking futon. Almost all of the bright light streamed through windows on the wall on the opposite side of the armchair.

He poked his head around the chair and he saw a large gymnastics setup on the other side of the glass. There were mats stacked against some of the walls; in fact, piles of tumbling mats covered the first small portion.

Alex saw a glass door in the middle, it stood out since on all of the rest of the wall only the top half was glass. Alex quietly pushed it open and stood concealed behind a stack of mats.

Camille was on a set of uneven parallel bars. She had traded her usual expensive designer garb for a Nike cropped black and white sports top and a pair of matching shorts. Alex hoped she had not noticed him. Looking on as she did a straddle back to handstand, transferred to the higher bar, did a few giants and followed with a Geiger, Alex was amazed. He had no idea what the tricks were called, or how difficult they were to do, but he still couldn't help uttering, "Wow!" He also was dumb enough to stand up from his scrunched position behind the mats.

"You can come out you know," It was Camille; she was still on the bars.

As Alex walked toward her she jumped down. "You're really good," no matter how much he detested her, he had to admit that.

Camille said nothing.

"Do you compete?"

"Nope," she was coating her hands with more chalk and adjusting her grips.

"Then why do you have a full gym in your basement? Why do you not compete, are you afraid or something?" he sneered.

"My mother enjoyed it; she was the one who competed. And no, I am not afraid whatsoever. I just have no desire to prance around in a leotard with hairspray on my but!" her voice was blunt.

Alex couldn't help but laugh. She was actually opening up, or being as open as he could ever expect from someone like her.

"What was your mom's name? Jack- my house keeper- is a big gymnastics fanatic, maybe she's heard of her," it was a lie, but he wanted to know more about Camille, he could figure out some way to get information on her mother.

"Alexis Natalie George," she still sat on the bar. Camille hoped down and walked toward the wall of glass and concrete. Alex started to swing on the bar. As he moved to stand up Camille walked back over, water bottle in hand.

"If I were you I would be careful," it was odd that she was even remotely concerned, although, then again, her voice was as cold and blunt as ever, only her words were different.

"I won't fall," he was beginning to stand up on the lower bar. Suddenly he could feel the piece of wood wobbling under his weight. He gripped the top bar for support, but all that succeed in doing was forcing him to twist to avoid hitting his head on the higher bar. Alex hit the mats head tilted downward at an awkward angle, and blacked out.

* * *

I hope you liked it!

I have the next two portions written. This chapter was intended to be longer, but I could have split it into two, so you ought to be thankful I didn't. I really want to know:

1- What do you think of Cilia, Chen, and Jamal?

2- What do you think is going to happen?

3- Why did I choose gymnastics (there really is a reason)?

4- How can I make Alex more in character?

5- Anything I can to improve Camille?

6- What do you think I can improve on otherwise?

7- Any suggestions at all? Plot twists? Anything else?

8- Finally, I mentioned that there was something very important in this chapter, what do you think it is?

Wow! That is a long list of questions! I will update with the next part when I get 4 reviews, and I will add the second part if I get 7 reviews!

-Marissa


	18. Purple Button

I'm not kidding when I say you are not getting a new chapter without more reviews. I did, however, decide that I need a review response section for those kind, sweet, saintly people that did review!

rater- whoever you are, thank you:

1- yes that was intended, they know more then they think they do, but they do not have the very basic information that would normally help them make sense of all of those little details they do pick up

3- oh, its much more complex than that evil grin it has little to do with Camille actually another evil grin if you email me I might tell you a bit more though

4- Alex is basically clueless in this, all of this stuff is happening around him and it kid of involves him, but no one seems to stop to tell him anything, he is as curious as hell, so he is going to ask more questions than normal

5- Thank you, Camille is my favorite character to write, she is just different than a lot of characters out there. Don't get used to an open Camille though, she will flip flop

6- I definitely can keep up with all of them; I actually have summaries of each of them and the roles they will play in this and the future stories

7- I plan to quicken the pace, but since I am planning a relatively long series I needed to add some background information…

8- You shall not know for a while evil smile

MissCat- thanks for pointing that out, I will be sure to fix that whenever I get around to it, which might be sooner or later, I have quite a full schedule

HawkEyeDownUnder- I'm glad you like it 

Adri Jupiter- I'm happy I made you happy, now maybe I'll get another very helpful review looks hopeful

Glissoning Raven- Interesting how?

Down by…The Lake!- yeah, I liked the idea of the tattoo as well, it will play a part in later stories as well

Hails- yes, I guess you are right, I will try to fix that sooner or later

Mrs.JonesPeppermintProvider- first I have to say I love the name, second thank you so much for the LONG, helpful review! Camille has a very illogical and logical fear, there is only one thing she is totally and completely afraid of, you will figure that out in either the next story or the one after that, although there will be subtle clue between here and there. Camille and her sister that will get interesting later… trust me

Tammyecklemoom- Thanks a lot!

Lee Pyro- I personally like to think that he would have abandoned all manners with these people long ago, seeing as it gets him nowhere…but I will and have been trying to fix that…

nuclearXsquid- Thanks, and I love you story, it is really great!

LadyZarobiti- Oh, I have plans for something like that, but as you said, it wouldn't be anything serious. It would more to be to show how Alex stinks at things like talking to a girl he likes and other things a "normal" teenage boy would be able to do well

Those are all of the most recent reviews, I think I responded to all of the ones before that- I hope at least

Well, that is all for now, do not forget to REVIEW! There is no way you will get another chapter without a few more reviews!

-Marissa


	19. Lorcet

My email address is anonymouschic8901(at)gmail(dot)com:

Without further rambling, let us begin:

* * *

When Alex finally came to he knew it was the next day. The light streaming through the curtains to his left was surely early morning light. Glancing around he tried to get his bearings, but his head was hurting like mad! To his right there was a door that was slightly cracked. He could clearly hear someone walking toward it.

Slowly, he raised himself out of the soft, warm bed, attempting to ignore the pain in his head that felt like someone was repeatedly hitting over the head with some sort of blunt object. Whoever it was stopped abruptly when they reached to door. Alex could hear the person rummaging through something.

It must have been a cell phone because after a soft, "Ugh!" the person started to speak to seemingly no one.

"Che?" Alex did not speak Italian, but even he knew that che meant what. There was no denying that the voice was Camille's. The harshness and coldness was unmistakable.

The person that was on the other line must have said something that upset Camille, because when she started speaking again it was with a new ferocity, "Che significant lei la non lore pour premiere? Ho ditto per premiere lore non import che portal!" Alex could barely keep up with the conversation. He made a mental note to learn Italian whenever he had a horde of free time on his hands, which he reminded himself he probably never would.

"Idiot," she muttered under her breath in English. Whoever Camille was speaking to must have made her very angry. "Is olio tutorial endameba I file? None do UN maledict quanta Costa, lore preened append per me!" he could hear the phone slam shut and Camille began to come even closer to the door.

Alex scrambled to clamber back into the bed. He would like to think she didn't suspect he heard her, but the almost evil gleam in her blue eyes put that hope to rest. "We are leaving in," she glanced at watch from her father on her wrist, "one hour. You need to meet me in the garage. You will be taking one of the cars."

The first thought that flew through his head was obviously 'what on earth did he need a car for?' but he quickly pushed it to the side. He hoped that he would get to drive Camille's Mercedes, but he seriously doubted he would ever so much as sit in the driver's seat.

Quickly Alex hurried up to his room but he ran into Cilia on the way, "Alex, I'm so glad that I found you!" Her dark eyes were brimming with shiny tears and she did literally look like she could hug him.

"Um… what did you need?" he eyed the door to his room apprehensively; he had no desire to comfort Cilia if she cried.

"Well," her normally calm voice was shaking with something close to fear, "Chen, Jamal, and I are leaving, and I just wanted to say goodbye," with that she really did hug him. He could feel a warm tear drop onto his shoulder and a small piece of paper slipped into his pocket. "Don't open it until you are alone, and out of this house," he voice was almost inaudible, but the urgent tone still got across.

"Ok," Alex whispered back, deadly curious as to what the paper was. Cilia broke away from him and with one sad look back she walked toward a set of double doors opposite Camille's room.

Inside his room Alex had the urge to pull out the piece of paper and see what was on it, but he didn't. Cilia's voice was fearful and her tone was deathly urgent, whatever was on it needed to wait until he was sure no one would be able to see it. Reluctantly he looked around ready to begin packing before he realized that the only things he had were the brand new designer clothes. For fifteen minutes Alex just laid there face up, on his bed, but soon there was a soft rapping on the door.

With a groan Alex rose to open it. Outside he found the same woman who had given him the blueberry muffins previously. "Miss Laurent asked me to bring this up for you," she held up a black duffel filled with what he could only assume would be his clothes for training.

"Thank you," he took the duffel.

"She also told me to inform you that you are to be down in the garage now," the lady's face was impassible; she had obviously spent far too much time around Camille.

"What the hell! She told me earlier that I didn't need to be down there for another forty five minutes!"

She appeared astounded at his outburst, "Well Sir, there has obviously been a change of plans."

"Oh," and with that he darted down the stairs, across the foyer, through the door that led to the garage, and finally he skidded to a halt in front of Camille. Her face remained stony and she said nothing. Alex looked her over; she had shed her normal designer garb in favor of a Nike black Nike sweat suit and silver shox.

"Here," she handed him a small manila envelope, "inside is your driver's license and a summary of your cover identity. It is very basic and you will receive more information later."

Alex opened the envelope and pulled out the same ID that he had the previous day at the jewelry store; Brendan Votez was his name apparently.

"That," she made a vague gesture toward a black Chevrolet Corvette Z06, "is the car that you are to drive. Follow me or you will get lost." Camille dumped her duffel into the trunk of her Mercedes, hoped in, and started the car.

Quickly Alex headed towards the Corvette and dumped his bag in the trunk. Inside the manila envelope was also a key that he could only assume was for the car. One thing his uncle had made sure he could do was to drive. He could only assume Camille knew this or she was just hoping he would crash; he had to guess it was the second one.

Pulling out of the garage he was right on Camille's tail. For about two hours they stayed like this. Camille never looked back to see if he was still there; Alex doubted if she even cared. Finally, they pulled up to a large gate topped with electrically charged barb wire. In front of him Camille seemed to be saying something to the man in the tiny guardhouse for within one minute the large gate began to rise up.

She pulled ahead and Alex followed without any objection. For twenty minutes they wound along a forested lane, it would have been quite peaceful and serene if it weren't for the gunshots Alex could hear in the distance. As they rounded a sharp curve a large car racing track cam into view, it was small, but near-by was what looked like a small model of a city, complete with stop signs and traffic lights.

Pulling around the track to the other side, what looked almost in Alex's best description, car cubby holes. They were little wooden boxes with roofs over them. Camille pulled into one, hoped out of her car, and strolled toward the rear of the car cubby hole. Alex copied her and in the back of the sort of wooden garage he found a piece of paper containing only one line to write on, with "name" written on the left side.

"Am I supposed to write my real name or my cover?"

"Real name, everyone here will know somewhat who you are. You don't exactly blend in as a fifteen year old kid," Alex noted that she pocketed her car keys rather than dropping them in the small bin as instructed by the paper sign.

Alex scooped his black duffel out of the trunk of his car just as an extraordinarily fit man appeared. He reminded Alex sickeningly of the sergeant from the SAS training camp. "Leave your bag here," he even sounded like the sergeant Alex thought with dread.

"Kid, I said leave your bag," he was right in Alex's face. Reluctantly he dropped the bag in time to hear the man mutter, "What are they doing, sending me a teenager?"

Alex wanted to protest that Camille was a teenager as well and he didn't seem to have a problem with her, but he held his tongue. "We will be doing a little assessment of your skill first," Alex had no desire to do anything of the sort, his head still pounded from his fall the previous day.

The man began to walk and Camille followed, Alex noticed she had shed her jacket to reveal a short sport top underneath. They walked for what seemed like a mile before they reached what seemed like a relatively flat trail. "You need to complete the three mile run in under thirty minutes, or you will do it again until you do."

Camille began immediately, but Alex waited. "What are you waiting for, get going!" the man screamed. Alex quickly passed up Camille and continued to move farther and farther ahead. This only made him want to go faster still, beating her felt good. Alex completed the run in twenty one minutes, panting and out of breath he could not help admire the scenery, the fact that Camille barely made it in the allotted time just made the whole thing prettier.

"Push-ups now!" the man ordered, "At least 40!"

Alex did that and more; he kept going until he reached seventy five, which he did before Camille had even finished forty. His face must have looked triumphant and mocking because Camille gave him a contemptuous smile alongside a harsh glare. His arms ached but that look just made all of the pain worth it.

This went on for what seemed like forever. Sit-ups, pull-ups, sprints, another run, and finally what Alex dreaded, the obstacle course. If the one at the SAS training camp had been the jungle gym from hell this was surely the devil's personal playground. Looking at it he could not possibly see how he could complete it. He was exhausted, but he had beaten Camille at everything, and that was more important then a bit of pain. It was stupid and immature, but there was something inside of him that wanted so badly to beat her that he was willing to go to extreme lengths to do so.

"Go!" the man screamed, pulling Alex from his thoughts. Camille darted quickly ahead. The first obstacle was a fifty foot tower, the only way up being a series of rotating wood pegs. Alex ran to the right side with Camille already almost halfway up. It was obvious that she had done this before. As he heaved himself over the top of the tower after an agonizing climb it finally occurred to him that Camille had really beaten him. She hadn't been unable to beat him at anything else, she had chosen not to. By doing that she made sure she would come out on top when it really counted, on the obstacle course. Alex could not resign himself to defeat though, no matter what. Hurriedly he repelled down the tower but Camille was no where near to be seen.

It took Alex thirty minutes and twenty one seconds to complete the course; it took Camille nineteen minutes four seconds. As he crossed the finish line he wanted so badly to wipe that nasty smirk off her face. The sweat soaked pair made their way to what the man had told them would be their cabin for the next week. There, they found their duffels sitting on opposing beds, divided only by a thick cotton curtain.

"We need to be down at the track in fifteen minutes. It takes ten to get there so we might want to head out," she was rummaging through her duffel for something when Alex spotted a small bottle of, he shook his head to clear the thought.

"I'll be there in a minute," Alex eyed her now closed bag as she walked out the door. Glancing around nervously, he opened the zipper on one of the side pockets. He knew she would not hesitate to put a bullet in his skull if she found him, but curiosity was driving him. Carefully he moved aside a few tops before he found the small bottle. It was not labeled but opening it he found little white pills that looked an awful lot like Lorcet, a trade name for Vicodin.

* * *

Gasp! There was a big revelation in this chapter! I hope you all know what it is! I think I am doing pretty well, three chapters this quickly, that is good for me!

-Marissa


	20. Trees

Alex just stood there, idiotically holding the bottle of Vicodin. If Camille caught him, he really would be dead. What on earth was she doing with Vicodin? If it was as addictive as he had heard, then he knew exactly what she was doing with it. And then there was the fact that the bottle was unlabeled. It just screamed drug addict.

He knew that he was pushing it, but he grabbed one of the little white pills and stuck it into his bag. As he piled the stuff back into her bag he could hear footsteps growing nearer and nearer to the small cabin. Alex barely had finished zipping the bag up when the overly muscular man threw the door open violently, "What is taking you so long, get going! You're skipping breakfast today!"

"Yes, Sir," Alex mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I said, yes, Sir!"

The man walked out and Alex followed a ways behind, he had no desire to be any nearer to the man than he had to be. Camille stood calmly next to a sheer wall of concrete at least 100 feet high. There were two trees of equal height right in front of it, obscuring what looked like an observation platform at the top.

"Your first task today is to get to the top of that wall, repel down the other side, and then you will jog for five miles until you get back to this spot! Got it?"

"Yes, Sir!" Alex screamed, Camille remained silent.

"Go!"

Quickly, Alex scanned the area for a quick way up. The only way possible was to climb one of the two trees. Once again, it was evident that Camille had done this before, as she was already climbing the tree. Alex walked over to the tree adjacent to the one Camille was in and began to climb. He hoisted himself up branch after branch. The branches were too far apart to get his foot over first. It was clear within about five minutes that Camille had a huge advantage. She was flexible and she could easily grip the branch, swing a leg over, and pull herself up. Alex could not do that. He had to rely only on upper body strength, which, halfway up, was starting to fade.

As Alex struggled to hoist himself up the last few feet Camille was already searching for a way down. There was a giant ladder, each rung at least six feet apart. It was held together by a thick rope on either end. The only way to get down without assistance would be to either be very tall, or slide down the rope from rung to rung. All Alex could think was, "This is idiotic, what if we fall?"

* * *

Three hours later Camille and Alex, sweaty and tired from their run made their way down to the shooting range. Once again the muscular man stood waiting for them. "You have not been taught to shoot?" the question was directed at Alex. 

"Correct," he decided that it would be best that the man didn't know about his short stint on Malagesto.

He handed Alex a GLOCK 9mm piston and Camille a Wilson .45 caliber to Camille. As they rounded the corner and the targets came into view Alex was relieved that they were just that, red and white targets. No people that he had to shoot.

Camille was amazing! She hit every target point blank, and even when they started with moving targets she hit them all. Alex didn't do badly, but he sure could have done better. He had been out of practice for a while now, and it definitely showed. He did, however, exceed the man's expectations, and he shot Alex an inquisitive look that clearly said, "I thought you had never shot a gun before?"

* * *

Twice that week they headed over to the model city for what the muscular man called "evasive driving training". Alex knew how to drive, but this was ridiculous. Thank god he hadn't been driving the corvette when he crashed into the model building, or when he ran off a bridge, or even when he flipped the car over. By the end of the week Alex had totaled three of the CIA's cars and the muscular man who he by then knew as Sergeant Daniels, was horrified. Camille did better, but she still managed to total one car by going through a window of one of the buildings and crashing into the opposite wall. The pair of them was a testament to why you couldn't get a drivers license before sixteen in the United States. 

On the final day of training, after successfully completing his last round of evasive driving training without getting so much as a scratch on the Corvette, Camille and Alex were called to what appeared to be an office building. It reminded Alex horribly of Royal and General Bank. The receptionist was a harsh looking woman in her late fifties with bleached blonde hair that looked like straw and a suit that was at least twenty years out of style. Armed guards stood on either side of the elevator that led to the upper floors. Camille paced the lobby as Alex lay sprawled out on one of the couches.

A young man that couldn't be older than thirty came bounding out of the elevator, two bags in hand. "I'm Leo Smith," the man rung Alex's hand enthusiastically.

"Hurry it up Leo, we have a flight to catch," Camille instructed him.

He appeared to be startled that she would boss him around like this. He seemed to open his mouth to retort, but then he closed it quickly almost as if he had just recognized her, "Of course Miss Laurent." She didn't bother to thank him.

He opened one of the bags and pulled out a small pouch of what looked like ordinary magnets. "These, are tracers. You just stick one wherever and you can track the object's location with this," he produced a small silver gadget that looked like the kind of GPS system you would find in an ordinary car.

Next, Leo pulled out a bracelet and handed it to Camille, "If you pull a charm off it will explode 10 seconds after you press the tiny button."

Camille slipped it on without a word, just a nod.

"This acts as a bug detector if you press the blue button on the left side," he held out a watch to Alex. "These are stun grenades," he handed Camille another small pouch, this one filled with what looked like white marbles with one black dot on them. "Press the black dot in and it will go off in fifteen seconds."

Finally he opened the second bag and pulled out two smaller black bags. "I assume you two can figure out what these are," Alex nodded acknowledging the fact that each held a gun. "If you keep them in the bags, you will be able to get them past airport security no problem."

"Thanks," Alex told Leo as he handed him his gun.

"I just have this left," he pulled out a large box and handed it to Alex. "That is from MI6, they instructed me to give it to you. You are supposed to open it here though."

Quickly Alex tore it open. Inside there was a silver laptop and a normal looking cell phone. A short note was enclosed.

Alex,

This is a normal laptop. If you dial 999 on the phone it will connect you straight through to Blunt's office, but other than that, it is a normal phone. You never know when these items will come in handy!

-Smithers

Leo instructed them, "You two ought to be going now, you have a plane to catch after all."

Camille stood up to leave, small black bag in hand. Alex suddenly remembered the note from Cilia in his pocket. Who knew when he would have a chance to open it? "I need to use the bathroom," Alex told Camille.

Camille nodded to show she heard and headed outside, toward the car. Alex walked down a short hallway into the boy's restroom. Sitting down on the toilet he opened the note.

Alex

Chen, Jamal, and I are being fired. Watch your back around Camille, trust me, her entire family is bad news. If you need anything call:

(910)-893-0725

-Cilia

* * *

Yes, I am aware of the severe lack of action in the story so far. I promise it will get more exciting, although something very important was just learned about Camille. Let me give you a clue just in case you cannot figure it out yourself: SHE IS ADDICTED TO VICODIN! There, I said it! 

-Marissa

* * *


	21. Champagne and a Mojito

The private jet touched down in Cairo at 3:30 PM local time. Alex was puzzled. Most of the time part of his job had been to keep a "low profile"—one that did not involve private jets and Lamborghinis. But sure enough, sitting there on the runway was a Lamborghini Mercielago LP640 waiting for them. The piles of Fendi and Louis Vuiton luggage was unloaded from the plane and placed in the car—with only an inch of room to spare. Camille—or Helene as he was to call her—slid into the passenger seat. Alex, even more puzzled, slid into the driver's seat.

"You do know how to drive, correct?" Camille appeared skeptical.

"Yeah."

"Then you might want to start the car."

Alex did as she asked, but before he moved the car, he turned to her, "Isn't the point to keep a low profile? When did driving a Lamborghini become 'low profile'?"

"That would be the point; we're not trying to keep a low profile. If we don't attract their attention, we'll never get a hold of these people. If we tried to keep a low profile, they would suspect us right away, but this way, we just appear like prospective buyers."

"What exactly would we be buying?"

"Weapons, some planes and missiles, they might even have the schematics for a nuclear weapon. No one knows exactly. That's why we're here."

Alex remained silent, but he mulled over what she had said. They were dealing with people that had nuclear weapons? What would that sort of people do to spies? He didn't even want to think about it.

"Where are we going?" Alex was hit with the sudden realization that he had no idea of what they were doing. Everything was in Camille's hands.

"The hotel, and then we are going to go for lunch. Later we are going to hit a few clubs."

"Clubs?"

Camille sounded exasperated, "Yes, Alex, clubs. Night clubs. Many of the members' children frequent them."

Alex remained silent. This entire thing was quickly turning into a James Bond like mission, now all he needed was an Aston Martin.

* * *

Alex wove down a smoothly paved road. They had driven for almost an hour and were now outside the main city. Suddenly they neared a large, high tech looking gate. "I thought you said we were going to the hotel?"

Camille didn't take her eyes off of the gate in front of her, "We are."

"It looks more like a military base."

Camille didn't smile or laugh. Alex inched the car forward slowly. A guard walked out of a camouflaged hut to the right of the car that Alex hadn't noticed.

"Passports?"

Camille handed over both her and Alex's forged passports. The guard walked back to the hut with them. Five minutes later he walked back toward them, obviously satisfied. "Enjoy your stay Ms. Marseille," he handed the passports back to Camille. She motioned to Alex to drive, and they drove through the now open gates without a word.

For a mile they drove, the landscape becoming more and more lush and green. The road was lined with tropical foliage and looked as though it belonged in the Amazon Rain Forest, not the middle of the desert. Alex actually found himself enjoying the drive. He could feel the raw power of the car beneath his fingertips. It obeyed even his most gentle touch. Without realizing it, he pushed it all the way to 150 mph. Camille looked calm and relaxed, as though she did this every day.

As Alex rounded a sharp curve with enormous speed a giant palatial Mediterranean estate came into view. It was obviously the hotel. He slowed the car and pulled up in front of the giant mosaic encrusted doors. Two white polo shirted valets scampered toward them, groveling for the keys. Even with all of the luxury cars they had become accustomed to, the jet black Lamborghini was something special.

Alex and Camille hopped out of the car. The valets began unloading the luggage behind them. Camille waltzed ahead, through the doors, which opened accommodatingly for her. Inside, a thin woman that looked like she had jumped off the pages of vogue, handed Camille a key, and bowed, "Ms. Marseille. Jeffery will show you to your room." She gestured toward a tanned twenty-something man with jet black hair.

Camille appeared relaxed in all of this luxury, Alex would have too, had he not spotted a certain man twenty feet away. The man had graying hair and wore an expensively cut suit. On his arm was a woman that looked like she could be his daughter. She had bleach blonde hair and her shirt was so low cut, it was barely legal. It wasn't the woman that worried Alex, but the man, he could be a problem. Alex needed to make sure he wasn't seeing things, so he tapped Camille on the shoulder, "Who is that over there with the Anna Nicole Smith clone?"

"That would be the Prime Minister."

"Of Great Britain?"

"Yes," she followed Jeffery nonchalantly, as if seeing the Prime Minister was a regular occurrence.

"Camille, I can't let him see me."

"Why on earth is that?"

"Do you want our cover to be blown?"

"No. I doubt he will remember you as the one that shot him. He couldn't really get a good look at you when you were dangling from the rafters."

Alex was shocked, "How the fuck do you know that?"

"I have my sources. But, let's put it this way, there wasn't a soul in the intelligence world that doesn't know about that particular little escapade."

"Okay. But that isn't the only time I've seen him. The other time he definitely got a good look at me."

"Alex, calm down."

"I am calm, I just don't want out cover to be blown."

"Neither do I, but don't worry, this resort encompasses 50 square miles, I think it will be easy to avoid him."

"Okay."

Jeffery led them through a set of double doors, into the sweltering Egyptian heat. He led them down a floral lined path to a large bungalow. "Here is your room, please, if there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to call." Camille only nodded.

He led them into the house. Inside they were met with a sunny foyer. Persian rugs covered the dark wooden floors, and priceless art hung on the walls. Jeffery cheerfully gave them a tour of the bungalow, which was more of a mini mansion in Alex's opinion. It spanned three stories, contained five bedrooms, eight bathrooms, a home theater, a full kitchen complete with a personal chef, three staircases, including an ornate spiral staircase in the back of the house, three sunrooms, a private pool and hot tub, and finally a stretch of private beach front. Apparently, they were closer to the Mediterranean than Alex had thought. In the Lamborghini the drive had only take an hour, but they had obviously covered over 150 miles.

"Would you like to dine in tonight, or would you like to dine at one of the seven restaurants we offer?"

"I think we will have dinner at The Mandarin tonight," it was Camille who answered.

"Very nice choice, Miss. Marseille, I shall make you a reservation for six thirty," Jeffery began to back out of the bungalow after giving each of them a respective bow. Alex noted a slight Italian accent in the man's voice.

Camille motioned to the chef, "I would like some champagne, now."

"Of course, Miss. Marseille, just a moment."

Alex was a little surprised at Camille. She was drinking and it was only three in the afternoon.

"What would you like, sir?" the chef spoke with a heavy Spanish accent in his voice.

"The same."

Camille raised her eyebrows at Alex, but said nothing.

Within minutes the chef brought two crystal glasses and bottle of Krug, Clos du Mesnil. He popped the cork and poured the liquid into each glass and handed one to each of the teenagers standing in front of him.

They drank their champagne in a silence only broken by the occasional noise outside the bungalow. Camille was the one that broke it, "Alex, go get dressed. The restaurant is formal."

"Fine," Alex drained his glass and set it on the small table next to the chaise he had been lounging on.

* * *

Half an hour later Alex descended the grand staircase in the center of the house to find Camille lounging on a chaise, another glass of champagne in her hand. She looked stunning in a Badgley Mischka midnight blue bubble dress that was almost as low cut as the blonde's in the lobby had been. A diamond pendant lay over her considerable cleavage; it matched the chandelier tiffany diamond earrings she wore. As she stood up she towered even more than usual due to her sky high gold Valentino stilettos.

Outside they found a vehicle that was a cross between a golf cart and a luxury car. A driver in crisp white trousers sat at attention. He jumped out to open the door for the pair. He gestured Camille inside taking a long glance at her cleavage. Alex snickered to himself as he imagined the gun that was more than likely hidden beneath that dress. As he began to clamber in after Camille the man gave him a look as though asking, 'How the hell did you land a chick that looks like that?' Alex struggled to refrain from rolling his eyes.

* * *

They pulled up at a beautiful starkly modern building in less than five minutes. The chauffer once again rushed around to open their door. "Please enjoy your meal."

Neither of them said anything. The inside of the restaurant was similar. All of the patrons were dressed similarly to Camille and Alex. A woman in a black skirt and matching black jacket led them to their table. "Welcome to the Mandarin. I will be back in a moment to take your drink orders." She walked away toward a table where two men, most likely father and son, sat in deep conversation.

Camille looked intently at the menu the woman had handed her. "Do you see the men the waitress is talking to?" she asked Alex, not looking up from her menu.

"Yes."

"The father is one of the ringleaders of the terrorist cell. His son is the one we will see at the club tonight."

Before Alex had a chance to respond, the waitress returned, "What may I get you to drink Ma'am."

"A mojito."

"And you, sir?"

"I will just have water."

Alex was a little surprised that Camille was drinking…again. This would have been her third drink in under an hour, and she probably needed to have her wits about her this evening. "Should you really be drinking again? Don't you want to be conscious tonight?"

"Alex, three drinks will not make you unconscious. Plus, with only three drinks in my system, I'll be one of the most sober ones at the club tonight. Let's put it this way, people that can still walk in a straight line have a tendency to stand out."

"Oh," was all Alex could think of to say. He didn't care what she said; he had no plans to end up drunk in Cairo.

Here it is! Sorry about the wait...

-Marissa

Don't forget to click the pretty purple button!


	22. E

"How much longer until we're there?" Alex sat awkwardly in the passenger seat of the jet black Lamborghini.

"I don't know," she sped up quickly, pushing the car to almost 170 miles per hour. Alex gripped his seat with all of his strength, but didn't want his apprehension to show on his face. A girl that had downed two glasses of champagne followed by a mojito and a martini ought not to be going 170 miles per hour, but apparently she was going to do whatever the hell she wanted, as she had just told him a minute ago.

After Camille had pointed out the man in the restaurant they had not said another word to each other about what they were supposed to be doing at the club that night. Even when they had headed back to the room Camille had just darted up the stairs to change into a miniscule gold sequined dress that barely covered anything. Alex now dared to broach the subject, "What are we supposed to be looking for here?"

"Anything. Alex, it's not our job to analyze what we do and don't need. You will know it when you find it," Camille never took her eyes off the wheel. They had passed the main gate of the resort and were starting to enter the busy streets of Cairo. The Lamborghini was definitely drawing some stares from many of the pedestrians walking along the sidewalks. Alex couldn't turn his head fast enough to see all of the flashing lights and ornate buildings. To their right was the Nile River and up ahead was a stretch of shops, nightclubs, and oodles of bars all oozing at the seams with young, rich, and beautiful Cairo natives.

Alex watching in awe as the Lamborghini slowed to a stop in front of a gigantic palatal black stone building. It looked like at one time it had been the home of a wealthy citizen, but now it was obviously the hottest nightclub in Cairo. A young Egyptian native rushed around to the left side of the car to open Camille's door. Alex watched in amazement as Camille sexily whispered something in the man's ear and handed him two 100 Egyptian pound notes and the keys to the car. Alex suddenly understood why Camille wore the skimpy dress. All around him, held back by velvet ropes evoking memories of movies that he had watched as a child, were numerous women wearing next to nothing. The Lamborghini helped them to stand out and assured them entrance to the club, and Camille's attire assured that they would get in quickly. The diamonds dangling from Camille's ears swung from side to side as she commandingly strutted up to the gigantic man standing in front of the giant glass doors that were the only entrance to the club. He quickly stepped aside for Camille to enter, but when Alex tried to follow he stuck out his arm, baring him entrance. This entire thing was new to Alex, and he had no idea what to do, Camille held all of the money after all. "I'm with her," was all he could think to say.

The man obviously spoke very limited English, "No entry."

At that moment Camille sashayed back out and gave the bouncer a sultry stare and five 100 Egyptian pound notes. The man immediately moved his arm to allow Alex entry. The crowds contained by the velvet ropes screamed in protest, but Alex could care less. He was in, but now the real challenge began. All around him beautiful people swarmed and finding who they were looking for could prove to be difficult.

He glanced around for Camille and he saw her chatting with a tall dark haired man, obviously a foreigner. From the little Alex could discern of their conversation he sounded French. Camille nodded intently, obviously taking in every word this man uttered.

Alex was watching them so intently that he didn't realize that he was standing in the middle of a busy corridor, until a petite red-head with sparkling green eyes bumped into him. She flashed a brilliant white smile, "Oh, I'm so sorry." Her voice had a thick Italian accent.

"It's fine. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she seemed to be scrutinizing his expensive slacks and silk shirt. "Have I met you before?"

"Surely not," Alex was sure she was mistaking him for someone else.

"I think I have. Aren't you Xavier Troy, James's son?"

Alex attempted to cut in, but she kept talking, "Listen, a few of us are up in the lounge, want to join us?"

Alex had no idea who this Xavier Troy was, but he knew better than to question something like this. He doubted that the girl meant him any harm. Her dress was so tight there was no way she could hide anything under that.

"Oh yes. When did you last see my father?" Alex needed to learn everything he could about this Xavier that he would have to pretend to be for god knows how long. He knew that it was a risk, but his target might just be in the VIP lounge, and he couldn't see how Camille would get in there. From what he had heard it took more than just good looks and money.

"Last summer in Aspen. Don't you remember? You were with that god awful Valerie Rockefeller. I cannot believe that girl!"

"She sure was a piece of work," Alex added with an uneasy chuckle.

"Come on," she took Alex's hand cheerfully and led him up a circular flight of glass stairs toward the VIP lounge, "They are all probably wondering where on earth I am."

The door to the VIP lounge was glass and through it Alex could see about 25 people. None of them could have been over the age of twenty five. They were all obviously the children of the wealthy and powerful class in Europe. Just a single glance showed him a prince, the daughter of a Prime-Minister, and an ex first daughter.

The red headed girl that had brought him up here dragged him over the bar and ordered two glasses of champagne. For the first time that entire night, Alex really took a look around. The tower the VIP lounge was located in stood two stories above the rest of the club. The floor was a mixture of glass panels and black granite. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the bright night sky shown through the vaulted glass roof and gigantic windows on all sides of the room. Scattered throughout were plush velvet chaises and couches. Sheer grey fabric hung from the ceiling and created a tent like effect.

In a corner partially covered by grey fabric, the ex-first daughter and a man Alex recognized as the son of an Italian billionaire. It appeared that they were snorting cocaine…brilliant. Alex was in a room full of high, drunk, in essence teenagers, with an unlimited supply of money and lawyers. He better not screw it up.

At the moment he realized that he suddenly spotted Camille. She was laying on one of the black velvet chaises and a man; he looked to be in his mid-twenties, sat next to her with a joint in his hand and a glass of champagne in the other. In Camille's outstretched hand sat two tabs of E. Ecstasy.


	23. Pol Pot's Friend

I know that it took forever, but I've been very busy.

* * *

Alex just stood there and watched as Camille took the E from the guy. What the hell was she doing? Did she have no self restraint or common sense? Fitting in is one thing, doing drugs is a whole different thing. "Camille," she looked up, obviously startled to see him in the VIP lounge, "What the hell are you doing?"

Her face melted into an icy cold mask, "I could ask you the same thing." She cocked one perfectly waxed eyebrow.

"What I'm doing up here isn't relevant! What the fuck are you doing? Don't you have any common sense?"

"Well, according to you, Brendan, and many others, I am a reckless daredevil. So you might want to shut your mouth, before I do it for you," her voice held a hint of menace. Alex had no doubt that Camille would follow up on her threat. It took him a few moments to realize why she had called him Brendan, but he soon realized that, though she had protected his identity, the red head who thought he was Xavier might not be too happy. And sure enough…

"Brendan!" the girl shrieked, "What kind of name is that, Xavier?"

"It's not my name, calm down. This wretched woman must be mistaken."

"Uh-huh." She stumbled toward the door and tapped the guard standing in front of the only exit. The girl whispered something inaudible in his ear before he gestured to both Camille an Alex to get up. He grabbed Camille on the upper right arm, hard. Camille twisted furiously, and managed to get free. Though she might have spared herself a horrible bruise, she sure as hell didn't do much for their cover. The man was obviously not in the mood for two people that had just snuck into his precious VIP room, for at that moment he pulled a gun out of an inside pocket of his black leather jacket. The entire scene was so cliché to Alex, he was tempted to laugh. Camille obviously wasn't.

She suddenly grabbed his hand and began pulling him toward the door. The girl was strong, he would give her that. Also, he was in no mood to resist being pulled away from a gigantic Egyptian with a loaded gun. As soon as the door of the VIP lounge was open Camille released Alex's hand and gestured frantically for him to follow her down the stairs. They wove through sweating masses of people dancing and drinking, the gigantic man obviously didn't bother to follow them. As they approached the entrance to the club Camille pulled out two 100 Egyptian pound notes and the Valet ticket stub. She handed them both to the man waiting outside who took them both with a smile.

The sweltering Egyptian heat was almost a break from the stifling heat inside, generated by hundreds of dancing bodies. Once inside the happily air conditioned car Alex could already feel the tension brewing. He had screwed up big time, and there was no way Camille was going to let him off. He just sat there tensed and ready to spring, but nothing came.

If Alex had thought Camille drove to the club quickly, it was nothing compared to how fast she drove back. "Camille, slow down! Do you want to get us killed?"

"Alex, make you useful and shut up and do what I say!"

Alex couldn't bring himself to say anything. The look on Camille's face was pure rage, if looks could kill, he would be as good as dead.

Camille continued without taking her eyes off the road in front of her. "Behind your seat there is a black bag, inside is my laptop. See when the next flight to Los Angeles is."

Alex wordlessly grabbed the bag and turned it on. Camille reached over him, taking her eyes from the road as she did. It was enough to give Alex a heart attack! She pressed her right thumb lightly to a small black square. The computer came to life. Alex was not surprised that Camille's desktop background was a boring black. In fact, as he studied every inch of the computer, he could find nothing to hint that Camille was involved with the CIA or anything of the sort. As if she read his mind, Camille 

told him, "It's the laptop that I bring on trips like this. If its stolen there is nothing at all to link it back to me or anyone I'm involved with."

Alex just nodded. "The next flight is in three hours."

"Book it. If you can't book it, we're going to have a problem." Alex didn't bother to ask why she didn't want to charter a jet. She seemed perfectly comfortable on the one coming here.

Alex entered all of the necessary information but stopped when he reached the section for a credit card number. "Camille, how are we supposed to pay for this?"

"Check the compartment right in front of you, there's a platinum Visa, use that." Alex did as he was told, but couldn't help but notice that it was her personal one, not the CIA's.

"Um…this is yours, not the CIA's." Alex couldn't comprehend why she would spend her own money on plane tickets. "Don't you have a credit card for that or something?"

Camille was concentrating on driving and she was obviously frustrated by this interruption, "Just do it, Alex, and stop asking stupid questions."

As Alex booked the tickets, he couldn't help but wonder why on earth they were headed to LA. What was there aside from Hollywood and celebrities? "Why are we going to Los Angeles?"

She smirked slightly, "I thought you'd never get around to asking that, with all of your stupid questions," she paused for a moment. "Before you burst into the VIP room I was talking to someone that informed me that Narith Soch, the son that I pointed out while we were having dinner."

Narith Soch, that name sounded vaguely Thai, maybe. "Where's is he from?"

"Cambodia. His father was a member of the Khmer Rouge, and a good friend of Pol Pot. He fled in 1979, when the Vietnamese invaded," Camille said it as though she dealt with people that were formerly part of the Khmer Rouge often, which Alex had to remind himself, she probably did.

Alex continued to work on booking the flight, apparently there wasn't such thing as a direct flight from Cairo to Los Angeles. "We're going to have a layover, there's no way to get around it."

"That's fine," from the way she clenched to teeth when she spoke, something obviously wasn't fine. "Where is the layover?"

"Paris," Camille's face seemed to brighten slightly.

"Paris? You're sure?"

Alex checked the glowing screen of the laptop again, "Positive, it can be either an hour or seven hours. I'm going to do the hour."

"No," Camille's voice was harsh, "Do the seven hour one."

"Why?" that didn't make any sense, they wanted to get on their way as soon as possible.

She didn't answer at first, as though she was considering what to tell him. "We need to pick up some things." With a sudden jolt Camille swung the car ninety degrees to the left onto a small roadway and stopped. Alex was still clutching his seat when Camille threw open the door and stepped out.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to make a few calls, stay here." She was pulling out her blackberry as she spoke.

Camille's heels made only light crunching noises as she strode down a small path and out of earshot. Quickly she dialed a memorized number and held the phone to her ear. It only rang once before a rough voice spoke, "Yes?"

"Can you be in Paris in nine hours?"

The man on the other end chuckled, "I think I can manage that."

"With both files?"

There was a slight pause on the other end, "I can do that. Where do you want to meet?"

"I don't. I want you to put them in a box and deliver them to the Four Seasons hotel. I will text you with the room number."

"And the money?"

"I'll leave it in a black bag for you to pick up when you deliver the files," and with that Camille hung up. She had three more phone calls to make.

* * *

So, what do you think? I hope you enjoyed it. I don't think its one of my finer chapters, but I'll leave that up to you.

Review please!

-Marissa


	24. Help Wanted

Sadly this isn't another chapter. I do have one almost finished. I don't know exactly what happened, but I don't have a beta reader anymore. I really could use someone to catch those typos I miss when I'm rereading my chapters late at night. In the mean time I'll continue to work on this upcoming chapter. If anyone is interesting please tell me.

Keep in mind; you'll get the chapters earlier than everyone else!

-Marissa


	25. A New Mobile

I know that took a little while, but I made it longer than usual to make up for the wait.

Enjoy!

Camille's next call was a to a personal shopper named Antoine Northam she had used from time to time while she was in Paris. She knew that the woman wouldn't appreciate being woken up at 10:30 or be willing to go out and find a tuxedo and gown for two teenagers. But, if there was one thing Camille had learned it was that there were few problems that you couldn't solve by applying copious amounts of money.

She pressed the tiny buttons on her BlackBerry and waited as patiently as she could manage, after four rings, someone finally picked up, "Bonjour? Qui passe cette heure?"

"Camille Laurent. Je serai à Paris dans neuf heures et je voudrais que vous me trouviez une tenue de cérémonie et un smoking," Camille's French was almost perfect. She hadn't used it much since fashion week in Paris two years ago. In fact, that was the last time she had seen Antoine.

"Il est joli de recevoir des nouvelles de vous de nouveau, Camille. Vous savez vraiment qu'il est dix trente la nuit ici et les magasins sont fermés?" she spoke hurriedly and Camille could hear a man's deep voice in the background urging her to hurry up.

Camille had expected this, but she also knew that Antoine could have any store in Paris open their doors to her and two in the morning if she wanted to. Her clients were rumored to include Françoise Meyers and Delphine Arnault, two of the wealthiest and most powerful women in France. "Quand était-il jamais un problème pour vous? Je me souviens qu'il y avait une robe de Valentino rouge, pourquoi ne font pas vous le recevez pour moi. Vous avez toujours mes mesures, correctes?"

"Oui, mais en ce qui concerne le smoking ? Ai-je ses mesures ?" Camille knew what she was hinting at. A year and a half ago she had been seen very publicly with the son of Russian billionaire Nikodim Baryatinsky. Both he and his son, Zakhar Baryatinsky, were clients of Antoine. It had cost the CIA and her father a small fourtune to keep the photos out of the tabloids. US weekly had been planning to run an article about the Russian heir and his "mysterious companion". Camille had suggested just killing the photographer, but then there was the matter of who else he had given a copy of the photos too.

"Non, vous ne faites pas. J'irai faire le texte vous eux plus tard. Pourquoi vous n'allez pas le début cherchant ma toge et chaussures ?" She would have to measure Alex later, but she didn't exactly have a tape measure handy.

Antoine's patience was wearing thin. "Parfait, Mlle Laurent. Vais faire je arange pour avoir une voiture vous rencontrent à l'aéroport ?"

Camille sighed, she hated riding in cars if she wasn't the driver. It was one of those control issues she had, but it would have to do, "Oui, ce serait beaucoup apprécié. Je vous verrai dans neuf heures." With that, she pressed the end button on her BlackBerry and began dialing the number of Marissa von Sallis, an old friend that lived in LA. She was the daughter of 

an old associate of Camille's mother. Marissa was a sort of supplier. She could get her hands on almost anything that a spy or assassin needed, whether it was ricin or an AK-47 assault rifle.

After two rings a soft voice spoke, "Hello, Marissa von Sallis speaking."

"Marissa! It's Camille," she was a little surprised that Marissa wasn't slurring her words. Lately she had taken to partying with Hollywood's young, beautiful, and rich.

"Camille! I haven't talked to you in months, how are you?"

Camille didn't have time for these pleasantries, "Fine. Look, I'm going to be in LA tomorrow and I need you to get me two tickets to that charity gala at the Getty Museum."

Marissa wrote something down, "Sure, do you need anything else?"

Camille smiled, "Not right now, but I'll call you when I do." She pressed the end button once again.

Her last call was to the Four Seasons Hotel in Paris. "Bonsoir, Quatre Saisons Paris. Comment puis-je vous aider ?"

"I'm arriving tonight and I need a suite when I arrive," even as she said this she couldn't help but wonder what she would do if they didn't have any rooms available.

The man on the other line responded in heavily accented English, "One moment please. I need to check what we have available."

Soft music played in the background while Camille was on hold. It was obviously supposed to relax the listener, but judging from the impatient tap of her foot, it wasn't working.

"Will this room be for one?"

"Two," she said more sharply than she had intended.

The fact that the man's English was so accented was really starting to get on her nerves, "We only have an Executive Suite with a king bed available. Will that be ok?"

"Fine. She figured that while she was out running her…errands, Alex could at least rest up a little bit.

"What will this reservation be under?"

She hesitated for a moment, "Camille Laurent, you have all of my information on file." With that she hung up.

XxX

What could possibly be taking Camille so long? She had stepped out of the car ten minutes ago. The entire thing was getting ridiculous. He only knew what he was doing half the 

time. Why on earth would no one tell him anything? He didn't even know why he had been sent on this crazy assignment. According to Camille (The Bitch as he fondly referred to her in his head), he couldn't do anything.

Looking out the window he saw nothing but sand and grasslands. There was a small gravel path that he assumed Camille had walked down. He didn't know why she had bothered; it wasn't like he could hear her. In fact, an elephant could have walked by and he wouldn't have heard it. Based on how thick the windows were, he could only assume that the car was bulletproof.

He was about to step out of the car and go find Camille—maybe he had gotten lucky and she had been eaten by a mountain lion or something of the sort, he didn't actually know what kind of dangerous animals roamed this part of Egypt—when he saw her appear a few hundred meters down the gravel path. She opened the driver's side door forcefully and climbed silently inside. Without hesitation she started the car and drove off toward what Alex could only assume was the airport.

"Who was so important that you had to call them this late?" Alex was extremely curious. He presumed that she wouldn't answer, but it was worth a try.

To his shock she actually answered, and not irritably at that—her phone calls must have gone extremely well. "Marissa von Sallis, I doubt you know who she is."

"Er, yeah, I don't. Who is she?" He hoped that she would give him a straight answer.

Camille continued to stare straight ahead at the road, and for a minute Alex thought she wasn't going to say anything, but then she spoke softly, "Her father is one of the most prominent arms dealers in the world. I'm a little surprised you haven't heard of him, what with all of your dealings with MI6."

Alex hated when people automatically assumed that he actually had any real involvement in MI6. "No, they don't tell me a thing."

"Well, anyway, she basically capitalized on this and started her own supply company. She supplies people like you and I, along with SCORPIA and other criminal organizations with everything they could possibly need. She can even hook you up with a helicopter, assuming you're willing to pay for it. Anything and everything, if you have the money."

A sharp intake of breath from Alex followed Camille's mention of SCORPIA, Camille obviously noticed this and continued, "But don't get any ideas about getting information about SCORPIA out of her. That's one thing you can't buy. I'm under the impression that she'd rather die than tell you anything about her other customers. And then there's the fact that she never deals with SCORPIA as an organization, only the individual members when they're in the States."

"But why do you buy stuff from her? I thought that the CIA would supply you with everything you needed," Alex was only partially confused, and partially he knew that he had to 

keep Camille talking since this was one of the few times he had ever gotten her to tell him anything more than a few words.

She paused for a minute, and Alex was afraid that he had asked the wrong question and set her off, "Sometimes it's a lot faster and a lot quieter. I don't enjoy having them ask questions. They don't always," she seemed to struggle for the right word, "approve of my methods." Alex couldn't help but snicker at that. "You think that's funny? It's actually pathetic, they don't care what I did when I've finished, but when they know, or have a good idea of what I'm going to do with something, and they don't like it, they're not going to give it to me."

Alex was shocked at how much Camille had just told him. It was like he was sitting in the car with a completely different person. Maybe she was starting to warm up to him, or maybe it was the many drinks she had downed that night…

"Alex, do you have a cell phone?" The question was completely out of the blue.

Alex thought for a minute, MI6 gave him a mobile occasionally, but he never got to keep it. "No, why does it matter?"

Camille pulled out her BlackBerry and began punching in numbers, "Alex, what sort of phone do you want? BlackBerry, Treo, something durable like a Casio, or what about a Sidekick?"

Alex had no idea what she was talking about, aside from the BlackBerry he had never heard of any of these phones before, but then again, he didn't honestly care about the latest mobiles. "Er, I don't know what half of those are."

Camille thought for a moment as she put the phone up to her ear, "Hey, Marissa, I think there is something else I need. Do you have someone in Cairo that could meet us at the airport with a Treo 750 in," she pulled the phone away from her ear and leaned over toward Alex. "Do you want a red, blue, or white phone?"

Alex really didn't care, "Blue is fine."

She put the phone back up to her ear and continued, "Blue?"

On the other end of the phone Marissa smiled, "Of course I do. You should know by now that I have someone in every major city on this earth, and if I don't have someone where you need them, then I can have them charter a jet and fly there, assuming you can pay for it."

She sighed; Marissa loved to brag, "Yeah, I do know that. Now, how much do I owe you for the phone?"

Camille could hear her adding it all up with a calculator on the other end, "Three grand, and that covers the first six months of service. I want this payment in cash, not on your tab."



"Why? You get paid either way." If she had to fork over cash for this, that would mean she would need to withdraw even more.

"Yes, but this way my runner," Marissa called all of her little cronies that handed out packages to people around the world runners, "can take his share right away and I don't get pestered about it later."

Camille knew that this wasn't true, Marissa always paid all of her workers at the end of every month on the dot, none of them ever complained. More than likely she was low on cash and she had a drug dealer to pay. Marissa and cocaine went together like peanut butter and jelly. "Ok, whatever Marissa, just have the phone for us at the Cairo airport at 1 a.m." With that she hung up the phone and reached back and grabbed a ten thousand dollar brick. Handing it to Alex she said, "I need three thousand out of that."

As he began to count out the bills he asked her yet another question, "Why does the mobile cost three thousand dollars? It's just a phone, right?"

"No, it's untraceable, and it will work almost anywhere on the globe, including Antarctica."

Alex had no idea why he would ever be down in Antarctica, but the fact that it would work anywhere was good to know.

XxX

An hour later they pulled into one of the many parking lots surrounding the Cairo airport. Overhead Alex could hear all of the planes take off and land, he hoped that they hadn't missed their flight. At 1 a.m. there wasn't a single other person in the parking lot, though there were surrounded on all sides by cars. Before getting out of the car Camille handed Alex her BlackBerry with a text message partially written. It read: _Antoine, here are his measurements:_

"Er, Camille, what am I supposed to do with this?"

She was hurriedly sorting through a black leather bag Alex hadn't noticed that had been hidden behind his seat. "Just what it says, tell her your measurements, but don't tell her your name."

Alex was appalled, hadn't they done enough shopping previously? "For what?"

"A tux, when we get to LA you're going to need it," Camille didn't even look up from her rummaging, but Alex could have sworn he heard her mutter, "Where is it!?"

Quickly Alex typed in all that he knew, his height, weight, and size, but he had no idea what his other measurements were, much less did he actually know what he was supposed to measure. "Camille, what about the car, what are we supposed to do with it?"



"Don't worry about it, someone will pick it up and return it, we just need to get everything that we want to take with us out, and destroy everything that we don't want. Grab my laptop." Alex turned the laptop off and slid it back into its non-descript black tumi case.

Camille slid gracefully out of the car and began pulling everything out of the car and piling it in the empty parking space to the left. She dumped everything out of the black leather bag she had been rummaging in earlier. "Alex, grab everything you can and put it over here. We need to make sure we have everything we need. We won't have time to do this again in Paris or Los Angeles. Be sure to check under the seats."

When he tossed her a gigantic monogrammed canvas Louis Vuitton duffle that he had found in the trunk she stopped dumping everything out of her laptop bag and began digging through the duffel. She pulled out a bundle of clothing and tossed it to Alex. "Get changed," she ordered. She had tossed him a pair of no-name jeans and a black Lacoste polo shirt.

"Where?" he looked around searching for something that he could use to change behind.

She didn't look up from the duffle bag, "Here."

"Camille, we're in the middle of a parking lot!" Alex really didn't like the idea of changing in front of her, and how would they explain it if anyone happened to drive past.

She sounded very ticked off, "It doesn't matter. Tell me you're not embarrassed to change in front of a girl. I know you haven't been doing this that long, but you ought to have dropped whatever sense of modesty you had when you first started training."

Camille pulled a pair of Rock and Republic jeans and a white Splendid t-shirt out of the duffle bag she was clutching and set both items on the ground. Alex began to unbutton his shirt when he noticed Camille yanking her gold dress over her head to reveal a black and purple lace La Perla bra and thong. He almost laughed; Camille never really seemed like the sort of girl that would wear lace anything. He finished with the buttons and pulled off the ill-fitting slacks Camille had given him back at their hotel. Surprisingly the jeans fit him perfectly, as did the polo. He looked over to see that Camille was just slipping on a pair of black leather Tory Burch flats, "Uh, what about shoes?"

She bent down and swiftly pulled a pair of Nike trainers out and tossed them to Alex, "I hope those fit." Alex slid them on without socks and went back to scouring the car for anything they might have missed.

By the time they were finished, the things sitting on the ground included: a laptop, three flash drives, various cables, two handguns, a Smith and Wesson rifle, six bottles of what Alex presumed was poison, a wallet stuffed with credit cards, three ten thousand dollar bricks, a silver case filled with the equivalent of two thousand dollars in seven different currencies, a BlackBerry, a super durable Casio phone, a satellite phone, and a tiny handheld laser, and that was just a bit of it.



Camille handed Alex a black bag made out of some sort of thick synthetic material, "Put the handguns in that."

"What is this thing?" the material was one of the weirdest things Alex had ever felt.

Camille had already begun putting the laptop in its bag, along with the cables and flash drives, "Marissa calls it a magic bag. Basically whatever you put in it won't show up when you go through airport security." Alex shoved the two guns into the bag and quickly pulled the drawstring tight. Camille stood up and grabbed a pink Playtex Sport box off the ground. She shoved the black bag inside it and sealed it up with a tube of super glue.

"Why the hell are you doing that?"

Camille held the lid shut until it was sufficiently dry, "If for some reason they search our carry-ons they won't ever find the guns. No one ever looks inside a box of tampons." As he thought about it, Alex realized that the idea was actually genius. Camille threw the box inside of the duffel that had their clothes from the club in it and picked up the rifle and handed it to Alex. "Stick that behind the seats in the car," she instructed him.

Once the car was locked, Camille handed Alex the laptop bag while she carried a black Birkin bag and the Louis Vuitton duffel. She started walking toward entrance to the terminal, "Come on, Alex. We were supposed to pick up your new phone half an hour ago." Seeing the slightly panicked look on Alex's face she reassured him, "Don't worry, our flight doesn't leave until 2:30, we still have an hour."

She hurried toward the glass doors. Right before reaching the entrance Camille turned toward a post to her left and spoke to what Alex thought was just thin air, "I know we're late."

To Alex's immense surprise a man emerged from the shadows with a small box in his hand. He chuckled, "You're never on time. Do you have the money?"

Camille handed the man the wad of thirty one-hundred dollar bills and he handed her the box and stepped back into the shadows. She slid the remainder of the money into her already stuffed wallet. She slipped the box into her black bag and quickly walked into the terminal. There were only a few people milling around in addition to the cleaning crew that was currently moping the floors. Straight in front of them was a Lufthansa check-in counter. Camille hurried up to it, her flats clicking on the tile floor with every rapid step.

Before the exhausted looking man at the counter even opened his mouth Camille handed him the two passports. He looked them and he seemed to think they were real before he swiped the bottom half in a small slot on his ancient looking computer. A string of four boarding passes printed out of a small slot below the counter. As Camille impatiently tapped her fingers on the counter the man grabbed them, stuck them in an envelope and handed them to her, "Security is down there," he told them in a heavy Egyptian accent. He raised a finger and pointed toward the row of metal detectors at left end of the cavernous room. Without a single word to the man, Camille grabbed hurried down to where the man had pointed.



Hope you liked it!

Camille's conversation with Antoine:

-Hello, who is calling at this hour.

- Camille Laurent. I will be in Paris in nine hours and I would like you to find me a formal dress and a tuxedo.

-It's lovely to hear from you again, Camille. You do know that it is ten-thirty at night here and the stores are closed?

-When has that ever been a problem for you? I remember that there was a red Valentino dress, why don't you get that for me. You still have my measurements, correct?

-Yes, but what about the tuxedo? Do I have his measurements?

- No, you don't. I'll text you them later. Why don't you go start looking for my gown and shoes?

-Fine, Miss Laurent. Shall I arrange to have a car meet you at the airport?

-Yes, that would be greatly appreciated. I will see you in nine hours.

HOTEL:

-Good Evening, Four Seasons Paris. How may I assist you?


	26. Finally Cracked

Alex trailed slightly behind as Camille strolled briskly toward the metal detectors. He watched carefully as she glanced hurriedly around, and, after being positive there was no one looking at her, stuffing two huge wads of cash down her shirt. The whole thing was sort of comical. Girls sticking money down their shirts, it reminded Alex of an old James Bond film. Now all he needed was a villain that seemed to cry blood and he'd be set.

They wouldn't need to wait in one of those wretchedly long security lines. At this time of night there were only three other people, a group of college students, that had just hurried out of the security area. Alex followed Camille's lead as she shoved her duffle and bag up onto the x-ray machine, along with her shoes and a few coins in her pocket. A gigantic half asleep man lazily watched the monitor as Camille's bag lid through. Alex got the feeling that she wouldn't have needed the magic bag; the man wouldn't have noticed if she had tried to walk through with a machine gun. Without hesitating she stepped through the metal detector and grabbed her shoes. Once again he was struck by the creepy feeling that that sort of confidence came only from doing this time after time. He wondered who Marissa's other customers included, and if some of them were the sort of terrorists that would hijack a plane. How many people had used her stuff to smuggle guns, knives and other weapons past airport security?

Alex slid the laptop out of its case, placed it in its own bin, and took off his shoes. After placing all of these items up on the dirty black conveyor belt he stepped through the metal detector. It didn't go off. Quickly he put everything back into the bag, slid on his shoes, and hurried after Camille toward their gate.

Though their flight wasn't due to leave for another hour there was already a decent sized group of people crowding around the gate. The door to the walkway was sealed shut, and behind a counter to the right of it stood a tired looking woman in her twenties. Camille walked up to her quickly. Alex couldn't help but wonder what she was doing, so he followed, lingering slightly behind her. "Do you think it would be possible to upgrade us to first class?"

For the first time Alex noticed how tired Camille looked. She seemed extremely irritated and extremely sleepy. There were dark circles under her eyes that even her expensive concealor couldn't hide. She handed the lady the passports and boarding passes. "I'm really very sorry miss, but we don't have any first class seats available." The lady didn't look sorry at all, she looked as though she would like nothing more than to hit Camille.

Camille on the other hand perked up slightly at this, though Alex could tell that it was just an act. She was no less irritated than she had been before, in fact, she was even more irritated. "Then maybe you could tell me two people that have first class tickets?" She flashed her professionally whitened teeth in a huge, manipulatively charming, smile.

Alex was impressed with Camille, the lady actually looked apologetic when she replied, "I'm sorry, but the airline doesn't allow me to give out that information."

Camille pulled a wad of hundred dollar bills out of her shirt and began counting out five. She handed them to the lady and instructed her, "Who's flying in first class?"



The lady just stared at the money disbelievingly. Alex could understand her confusion. In fact, he shared it. He couldn't understand why Camille would be that determined to get first class seats. Sure it was more luxurious, but when the flight was this uncongested, they could take an entire row of coach seats and about as comfortable. With a glance around to make sure that no one saw her, the lady slipped the money into her pocket in the side of her navy blue regulation skirt and pointed to an elderly couple sitting in front of the window, "Mr. and Mrs. Hayden are flying first class."

Without another word to the woman, Camille took a few quick steps toward the Hayden's. She pulled two ten thousand dollar bricks out of her Birkin bag. "I'll give you twenty thousand dollars if you fly coach and let us take your first class seats." Her voice held a hint of desperation and Alex wasn't sure if it was just another part of the act, or if she was genuinely worried.

The couple was stunned, if seemed like the man had, just a few minutes ago, been dozing in his seat. "Why on earth would you do that?" Alex recognized the woman's accent as German.

Camille practically rolled her eyes, "I need those seats. Please?" Once again, she flashed them that mega-watt smile.

The lady seemed to struggle. If they were flying first class that usually meant that they weren't lacking money, but even a very wealthy person wouldn't turn down twenty thousand dollars. "Our seats are 2A and 2B. What are yours?"

Camille quickly peered at the boarding passes, "35C and 35D. Do you have seats through to Los Angeles?"

"Of course, layovers are so pesky. We're flying first class on that flight too." Camille handed the lady the money and snatched the boarding passes out of her hand before dropping her and Alex's original ones on the woman's lap. Without another word to the woman she strolled to a secluded corner with a group of empty seats. She silently set her two bags down next to the seat and flopped down tiredly. Alex more gingerly set the laptop down and sat across from her.

Almost as soon as he had sat down the woman at the counter came on the loudspeaker and announced that their flight was delayed for thirty minutes. Alex watched Camille's face contort into something resembling fury before she stood up abruptly and walked away without a word. He thought she had started to warm up a little bit in the car, but apparently he was wrong. She was still the same cold hearted mysterious bitch as ever. He allowed his head to loll back against the seat and relax for the first time in a while. It was odd being able to do that in the middle of the airport, but at the same time, it felt nice, sort of like he had never come into this messy spy world.

Apparently he was wrong about Camille…again. She came back a few minutes late clutching two gigantic cups of Starbucks coffee and two original Cinnabons. She handed one of 

each to Alex, "You haven't eaten since dinner yesterday, I figured you might be hungry." It wasn't until she said this that he realized how hungry he actually was. His stomach rumbled as if to prove the point.

She sat down across from him and set her Cinnabon on top of the duffle. From inside her Birkin bag she pulled a tiny bottle of what Alex had earlier presumed was poison but now realized was vodka and poured it into her coffee before snapping the flimsy plastic lid back in place. After screwing the cap on and placing it back into her bag she pulled a brown pill bottle and grabbed two before taking a gigantic gulp of spiked coffee and swallowing both.

"Why do you need to take those?" Alex gestured toward the bottle she was stowing back in her bag.

She took another sip of coffee before responding, "I have an ear infection, it's an antibiotic." If Alex didn't know better he would have believed her, she was a fantastic liar. However, that bottle was the exact same one he had seen back when they were at Camp Peary. It didn't have an antibiotic, but Vicodin. The fact that she had just lied about it proved that she didn't want her habit known. But then again, he couldn't help but think; maybe she just didn't want him to know about some injury that pained her. He remembered when Ash had to swallow all of those pills because of when Yassen had stabbed him. He shook his head to clear it, Alex hated to think of Ash.

Before he even thought about it he questioned, "And does the vodka help with the ear infection?"

Camille gave him a quizzical look. Alex was a little leery of her getting extremely mad, he had to keep himself on her reasonably good side, after all, he had no idea what he was doing. He was just following what she told him. "No, but it helps me sleep. Do you want some?"

He wondered how the alcohol and Vicodin would mix. From what he had heard about Vicodin it was a sedative, just like alcohol, but throw in the caffeine from the coffee and she was surely to be really screwed up. "No, I'll be fine."

As he continued to consider the effects of mixing these three things she seemed to read his mind, "It's decaf. Yours is too. I thought we ought to get a little sleep on the plane."

"Is that why you wanted the first class tickets?" He knew that the seats in first class were more comfortable, but were they really worth twenty grand?

She had started to dig into her cinnamon roll and it took her a moment to respond while she swallowed a giant chunk, "Partially. I'm sure you're wondering why I would spend that much money to have first class seats, right?" Alex nodded. "Well, on this particular jet we'll be on, there are curtains that can be closed around each of the first class seats. They help keep sound from traveling too. I figured we could use the privacy." She shrugged slightly, as if this was the completely obvious thing.



Camille pulled the box with Alex's brand new Treo out of her black leather bag. As she sliced the clear plastic packing tape off with her fingernails Alex couldn't help but wonder if they interfered when she fought, or did anything else for that matter. When she pulled the navy blue phone out of the box Alex couldn't help but ogle it a bit. He knew nothing about phones, but this looked like the best. It looked brand new and Alex wouldn't know that anyone had modified it if Camille hadn't told him previously. To Alex's surprise she pulled out her BlackBerry and began entering things into Alex's phone that she read off of hers. Maybe they were directions she had received from Marissa? He'd know eventually. With a sigh he started to dig enthusiastically into his gigantic cinnamon roll. It smelled delicious and he was starving.

* * *

Thirty long minutes later they were in line to board the jumbo jet that had pulled up at their gate. Camille had handed Alex his passport and boarding pass for this flight, while she continued to transfer things from her phone to his new one. She didn't even look up at the lady as she handed her passport and boarding pass over. After tired glance at the passport she ran the boarding pass through a machine that punched two tiny holes in one end. "Have a lovely flight!" her voice oozed sarcasm. It was the same lady that Camille had bribed earlier. The same procedure was repeated with Alex. He had to practically run to catch up with Camille who was already halfway down the walkway to the plane.

After flashing her ticket to the uniformed man at the door to the plane, she turned to the left inside and walked up a cramped flight of stairs. The upper level was all first class. Soft recessed lighting lit up a room filled with plush white leather seats and glossy walnut tables. Smiling flight attendants greeted passengers and pointed them to their seats. Each seat had a television that would pop out of the arm. There were two seats on either side of the aisle, and as Camille had promised there were soft beige curtains hanging from the ceiling that could be closed around any of the seats that the passengers wanted. Camille was already sitting in one of the gigantic seats by the window, still buried in the two phones.

Almost immediately after Alex sat down next to her, she gestured silently to one of the flight attendants, "Could you close the curtains around these two seats?"

The lady turned to Alex questioningly, "Is that ok with you, sir?" She kept on smiling, and Alex couldn't help but notice that it wasn't one of those fake flight attendant smiles, but that it was actually genuine. It surprised him.

"Sure, that'll be fine," Alex nodded. He really wanted to know what Camille was doing to his phone. It was actually starting to worry him. For all he knew she could be bugging it.

As the woman closed the curtains Camille handed him back the phone. "I put a few important numbers in there. Blunt, Jones, me, oh and a fantastic money launderer!"

Alex stared at it. She had indeed added over fifty contacts to the phone. "Why would I need a money launderer?"



Camille looked extremely puzzled, like she had just been smacked over the head, "I don't really think that you can just go and deposit thousands of dollars of cash in a bank without them asking a few awkward questions. And how would you explain how you got that money, just say 'Hi, I'm a teenaged spy!' I don't really think they'd buy that."

Alex just looked down at the phone. He knew what they were headed towards, but he wasn't going to help her get there. He figured the best thing to do would just be play dumb, because to her, he probably was dumb. "Where would I get thousands of dollars?" He put on his best puzzled face and hoped she bought it.

She stared at him like he was a completely retarded before speaking, "The money that Blunt gives you after you return from an assignment." She even said it slowly and condescendingly.

Alex finally snapped, after all of her condescending attitude and after putting up with being kept in the dark and pushed around the entire time, "Camille, I'm not an idiot, so don't talk to me like I'm three. Blunt doesn't pay me!" He took a deep breath before plunging on, "In fact if you want to know, he blackmailed me into this whole thing. But oh, I'm sure all of your 'connections' can tell you that!" By the time he was finished he was red in the face and Camille was leering at him.

In her trademark low and cold voice she snarled, "Alex, ought to keep your voice down. I was trying to help, but if you don't want my help then fine. Take your phone, and keep your mouth shut."

Alex wasn't finished, "Also, could you at least attempt to tell me what's going on! I mean, all I've been doing this entire time is following what you tell me. You think you might want to let me in on what were actually supposed to be doing?"

Camille raised one eyebrow, "Are you done?"

There had never been a moment where Alex had wanted to hit someone more than he wanted to hit Camille right now. But he also knew that if he did, the flight attendant would come running and when they landed it would be awfully hard to explain why he had just punched someone. "Yep," he said through gritted teeth.

"In that case, I'll tell you. We're heading to LA to attend a gala at the Getty Museum. The son of the terrorist ring we're investigating will be there. We're supposed to gather as much information as we can. But, since we have a layover in Paris, a man I've worked with occasionally is bringing me the complete file on this particular assignment," she held up her hand as Alex opened his mouth. "You can't come with me. He's the type of person who would kill anyone that he doesn't think should know about him. What he's doing isn't exactly 'legal'. I'm not supposed to have this information. It's not the type of thing they would give out, even if you're the one on the assignment."



Alex was shocked she actually told him anything. He had expected her to yell and bite off his head for even suggesting that she was doing something wrong. "What do you expect to find in these files?"

She pretended she couldn't hear him, "Eventually, when we're being debriefed, you can't tell them about this. The CIA and MI6, even ASIS doesn't really approve of all of my methods." She smirked slightly at the thought of it.

Alex had to bite back a very snide remark.

Camille stared straight ahead, as though lost in thought, "What did they blackmail you with?"

Once again, Alex settled on the truth as the best answer in this particular situation. "They threatened to deport my guardian and send me to a home."

Camille didn't say another word for the remainder of the flight. Alex thought her silence was a good sign. She slept through most of it. Alex couldn't help but notice that even in her sleep, Camille didn't look at ease, as though she was always on high alert. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't wait for this whole ordeal to be over so he could get back home to Jack. She must be horribly worried about him.

* * *

What do you think?

Be sure to drop me a review to tell me! )

-Marissa


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